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PRINCETON,  N.  J.  *^^Q/ 


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Purchased   by  the 
Mrs.   Robert   Lenox   Kennedy  Church    History   Fund. 


BR  1700  .B734  1901 
Baring-Gould,  S.  1834-1924 
Virgin  saints  and  martyrs 


VIRGIN    SAINTS    AND    MARTYRS 


VIRGIN  SAINTS 
ANDJ^ARTYRS 

By    S.     BARING-GOULD 

Author  of  "  'The  Lives  of  the  Saints  " 


^ 


WITH       SIXTEEN      FULL-PAGE 
ILLUSTRATIONS  BY  F.  ANGER 


New  York    THOMAS  Y.  CROWELL  &  Co. 
Publishers  jg^  J9^  jig^  ^9^1 


CONTENTS 


I.  BLANDINA  THE   SLAVE  ...  I 

^  II.  S.   CECILIA 19 

III.  S.  AGNES 39 

IV.  FEBRONIA   OF   SIBAPTE  •  •  •         53 
V.  THE   DAUGHTER   OF   CONSTANTINE      .         75 

VI.  THE   SISTER   OF   S.    BASIL     ...        93 

VII.  GENEVIEVE   OF   PARIS  .  .  .Ill 

VIII.  THE   SISTER   OF   S.   BENEDICT       .  .      129 

IX.  S.   BRIDGET I49 

X.  THE   DAUGHTERS   OF   BRIDGET    .  -179 

XI.  S.    ITHA 197 

vii 


iriii 

Contents 

PACE 

XII. 

S.    HILDA 

.          217 

XIII. 

S.    ELFLEDA 

231 

XIV. 

S,   WERBURGA        .... 

•          253 

XV. 

A   PROPHETESS     .... 

•          275 

XVI. 

S.   CLARA 

.          295 

XVII. 

S.   THERESA            .... 

•          315 

XVIII. 

SISTER   DORA        .... 

•     349 

I 

BLAND  IN  A    THE    SLAVE 


BLANDINA   THE    SLAVE. 


BLAND  IN  A    THE    SLAVE 

IN  the  second  century  Lyons  was  the  Rome 
of  Gaul  as  it  is  now  the  second  Paris 
of  France.  It  was  crowded  with  temples  and 
public  monuments.  It  was  moreover  the 
Athens  of  the  West,  a  resort  of  scholars. 
Seated  at  the  confluence  of  two  great  rivers, 
the  Rhone  and  the  Saone,  it  was  a  centre  of 
trade.  It  is  a  stately  city  now.  It  was  more 
so  in  the  second  century  when  it  did  not 
bristle  with  the  chimneys  of  factories  pouring 
forth  their  volumes  of  black  smoke,  which 
the  atmosphere,  moist  from  the  mountains, 
carries  down  so  as  to  envelop  everything  in 
soot. 

In  the  great  palace,  now  represented  by  the 
hospital,  the  imbecile  Claudius  and  the  mad- 
man   Caligula   were    born.      To    the    east  and 

3 


4       Ube  DiXQin  Saints  anb  /TOart^rs 

south    far    away    stand    Mont   Blanc   and    the 
snowy  range  on  the  Dauphine  Alps. 

Lyons  is  a  city  that  has  at  all  times 
summed  in  it  the  finest  as  well  as  the  worst 
characteristic  of  the  Gallic  people.  The  rabble 
of  Lyons  were  ferocious  in  177,  and  ferocious 
again  in  1793  ;  but  at  each  epoch,  during  the 
Pagan  terror  and  the  Democratic  terror,  it 
produced  heroes  of  faith  and  endurance. 

The  Emperor  Marcus  AureUus  was  a 
philosopher  full  of  good  intentions,  and  a 
sentimental  lover  of  virtue.  But  he  fondly 
conceived  that  virtue  could  only  be  found 
in  philosophy,  and  that  Christianity,  which 
was  a  doctrine  and  not  a  speculation,  must  be 
wrong  ;  and  as  its  chief  adherents  belonged 
to  the  slave  and  needy  classes,  that  therefore 
it  was  beneath  his  dignity  to  inquire  into  it. 
He  was  a  stickler  for  the  keeping  up  of  old 
Roman  institutions,  and  the  maintenance  of 
such  rites  as  were  sanctioned  by  antiquity ; 
and  because  the  Christians  refused  to  give 
homage  to  the  gods  and  to  swear  by  the  genius 
of  the  emperor,  he  ordered  that  they  should 
be  persecuted  to  the  death. 


3BlanMna  tbe  Slave  5 

He  had  been  a  pretty,  curly-haired  boy,  and 
a  good-looking  young  man.  He  had  kept 
himself  respectable,  and  looked  on  himself 
with  smug  self-satisfaction  accordingly.  Had 
he  stooped  to  inquire  what  were  the  tenets, 
and  what  the  lives,  of  those  whom  he  con- 
demned to  death,  he  would  have  shrunk  with 
horror  from  the  guilt  of  proclaiming  a  general 
persecution. 

In  Lyons,  as  elsewhere,  when  his  edict 
arrived  the  magistrates  were  bound  to  seek 
out  and  sentence  such  as  believed  in  Christ. 

A  touching  letter  exists,  addressed  by  the 
Church  of  Lyons  to  those  of  Asia  and  Phrygia 
giving  an  account  of  what  it  suffered ;  and 
as  the  historian  Eusebius  embodied  it  in 
his  history,  it  happily  has  been  preserved  from 
the  fingering,  and  rewriting,  and  heightening 
with  impossible  marvels  which  fell  to  the  lot 
of  so  many  *of  the  Acts  of  the  Martyrs,  when 
the  public  taste  no  longer  relished  the  simple 
food  of  the  unadorned  narratives  that  were 
extant. 

"The  grace  of  God,"  said  the  writers, 
"  contended   for   us,    rescuing    the   weak,    and 


6       Ube  IDtratn  Saints  anb  /llbart^rs 

strengthening  the  strong.  These  latter  endured 
every  species  of  reproach  and  torture.  First 
they  sustained  bravely  all  the  insults  heaped 
on  them  by  the  rabble — blows  and  abuse, 
plundering  of  their  goods,  stoning  and  im- 
prisonment. Afterwards  they  were  led  into 
the  forum  and  were  questioned  by  the  tribune 
and  by  the  town  authorities  before  all  the 
people,  and  then  sent  to  prison  to  await  the 
coming  of  the  governor.  Vetius  Epagathus, 
one  of  the  brethren,  abounding  in  love  to  God 
and  man,  offered  to  speak  in  their  defence  ; 
whereupon  those  round  the  tribunal  shouted 
out  at  him,  as  he  was  a  man  of  good  position. 
The  governor  did  not  pay  attention  to  his 
request,  but  merely  asked  whether  he,  too, 
were  a  Christian.  When  he  confessed  that 
he  was,  he  also  was  transferred  to  the  number 
of  the  martyrs." 

What  the  numbers  were  we  are  not  told. 
The  most  prominent  among  them  were 
Pothinus,  the  bishop,  a  man  in  his  ninetieth 
year,  Sanctus,  the  deacon  of  the  Church  of 
Vienne,  Maturus,  a  recent  convert,  Attalus, 
a  native  of  Pergamus,   Blandina,  a  slave  girl, 


Blanblna  tbe  Slave  7 

and  her  mistress,  another  woman  named  Biblls, 
and  Vetius,  above  referred  to. 

Among  those  arrested  were  ten  who  when 
tortured  gave  way  :  one  of  these  was  BibHs  ; 
but,  although  they  yielded,  yet  they  would 
not  leave  the  place  of  trial,  and  remained  to 
witness  the  sufferings  of  such  as  stood  firm  ; 
and  some — among  these  was  Biblis — plucking 
up  courage,  presented  themselves  before  the 
judge  and  made  amends  for  their  apostasy  by 
shedding  their  blood  for   Christ. 

The  slaves  belonging  to  the  Christians  of 
rank  had  been  seized  and  were  interrogated  ; 
and  they,  in  their  terror  lest  they  should  be 
put  to  torture,  confessed  anything  the  governor 
desired — that  the  Christians  ate  little  children 
and  "  committed  such  crimes  as  are  neither 
lawful  for  us  to  speak  of  nor  think  about  ; 
and  which  we  really  believe  no  men  ever  did 
commit." 

The  defection  of  the  ten  caused  dismay 
among  the  faithful,  for  they  feared  lest  it 
should  be  the  prelude  to  the  surrender  of 
others. 

The  governor,  the  proconsul,  arrived  at  the 


8       Ube  IDtrgtn  Saints  anb  /iDatt^rs 

time  of  the  annual  fair,  when  Lyons  was 
crowded  ;  and  he  deemed  this  a  good  oppor- 
tunity for  striking  terror  into  the  hearts  of 
the   Christians. 

Those  who  stood  firm  were  brought  out 
of  prison,  and,  as  they  would  not  do  sacrifice 
to  the  gods,  were  subjected  to  torture. 

Blandina  was  a  pecuHarly  deHcately  framed 
young  woman,  and  not  strong.  Her  mistress, 
who  was  one  of  the  martyrs,  was  apprehensive 
for  her  ;  but  Blandina  in  the  end  witnessed 
the  most  splendid  confession  of  all.  She  was 
frightfully  tortured  with  iron  hooks  and  hot 
plates  applied  to  her  flesh  from  morning  till 
night,  till  the  executioners  hardly  knew  what 
more  to  do  ;  ''  her  entire  body  being  torn  and 
pierced." 

Brass  plates,  red  hot,  were  also  applied  to  the 
most  tender  parts  of  the  body  of  the  deacon, 
Sanctus,  but  he  continued  unsubdued,  firm  in 
his  confession.  At  last  he  was  thrown  down 
on  the  sand,  a  mass  of  wounds,  so  mangled 
and  burnt  that  he  seemed  hardly  to  retain 
the  human  shape.  He  and  Blandina  were 
conveyed  back  to   prison. 


BlanMna  tbe  Slave  9 

Next  day  "the  tormentors  tortured  Sanctus 
again,  supposing  that  whilst  his  wounds  were 
swollen  and  inflamed,  if  they  continued  to 
rend  them  when  so  sensitive  as  not  to  bear 
the  touch  of  the  hand,  they  must  break  his 
spirit " — but  it  was  again  in  vain. 

Then  it  was  that  Biblis,  the  woman  who 
had  done  sacrifice,  came  forward  "  like  one 
waking  out  of  a  deep  sleep,"  and  upbraided 
the  torturers ;  whereupon  she  was  dragged 
before  the  chief  magistrate,  confessed  Christ, 
and  was  numbered  among   the  martyrs. 

The  proconsul  ordered  all  to  be  taken  back 
to  prison,  and  they  were  thrust  into  a  black 
and  noisome  hole,  and  fastened  in  the  stocks, 
their  feet  distended  to  the  fifth  hole — that  is 
to  say,  stretched  apart  as  far  as  was  possible 
without  dislocation — and  so,  covered  with  sores, 
wounds  and  blisters,  unable  to  sleep  in  this 
attitude,  they  were  left  for  the  night.  The 
suffocation  of  the  crowded  den  was  too  much 
for  some,  and  in  the  morning  certain  of  those 
who  had  been  crowded  into  it  were  drawn 
forth  dead. 

Next   day   the    aged    bishop    Pothinus    was 


10      Ube  DivQin  Saints  an^  /IDart^ts 

led  before  the  magistrate.     He  was  questioned, 
and  asked  who  was  the  God  of  the  Christians. 

"  If  thou  art  worthy,"  answered  he,  *'  thou 
shalt  know.'* 

He  was  then  stripped  and  scourged,  and 
beaten  about  the  head.  The  crowd  outside 
the  barriers  now  took  up  whatever  was  at 
hand,  stones,  brickbats,  dirt,  and  flung  them 
at  him,  howhng  curses  and  blasphemies.  The 
old  man  fell  gasping,  and  in  a  state  hardly 
conscious  was  dragged  to  the  prison. 

And  now,  on  the  great  day  of  the  fair, 
when  the  shows  were  to  be  given  to  the 
people,  the  proconsul  for  their  delectation  threw 
open  the  amphitheatre.  This  was  a  vast  oval, 
capable  of  holding  forty  thousand  spectators. 
It  was  packed.  On  one  side,  above  the  arena, 
was  the  seat  of  the  chief  magistrate,  and  near 
him  those  reserved  for  the  city  magnates.  At 
the  one  end,  a  series  of  arches,  now  closed 
with  gates  of  stout  bars  and  cross-bars,  hinged 
above  and  raised  on  these  hinges  by  a  chain, 
opened  from  the  dens  in  which  the  wild  beasts 
were  kept.  The  beasts  had  not  been  fed  for 
three  days,  that  they  might  be  ravenous. 


:BIanMna  tbe  Slave  u 

It  was  the  beginning  of  June — doubtless  a 
bright  summer  day,  and  an  awning  kept  off 
the  sun  from  the  proconsul.  Those  on  one 
side  of  the  amphitheatre,  the  slaves  on  the 
highest  row,  could  see,  vaporous  and  blue  on 
the  horizon,  above  the  crowded  tiers  opposite, 
the  chain  of  the  Alps,  their  crests  white  with 
eternal  snows. 

*'  No  sooner  was  the  chief  magistrate  seated, 
to  the  blare  of  trumpets,  than  the  martyrs 
were  introduced.  Sanctus  had  to  be  supported  ; 
he  could  hardly  walk,  he  was  such  a  mass 
of  wounds.  All  were  now  stripped  of  their 
garments  and  were  scourged.  Blandina  was 
attached  to  a  post  in  the  centre  of  the  arena. 
She  had  been  forced  every  day  to  attend  and 
witness  the  suiferings  of  the  rest." 

But  even  now  they  were  not  to  be  de- 
spatched at  once.,  Maturus  and  Sanctus  were 
placed  on  iron  chairs,  and  fires  were  lighted 
under  them  so  that  the  fumes  of  their  roasted 
flesh  rose  up  and  were  dissipated  by  the  light 
summer  air  over  the  arena,  and  the  sickening 
savour  was  inhaled  by  the  thousands  of  cruel 
and  savage  spectators. 


12      Ube  VitQin  Saints  an^  /iDatt^rs 

Then  they  were  cast  off  to  be  despatched 
with  the  sword. 

The  dens  were  opened.  Lions,  tigers, 
leopards  bounded  forth  on  the  sand  roaring. 
By  a  strange  accident  Blandina  escaped.  The 
hungry  beasts  paced  round  the  arena,  but 
would  not  touch  her. 

Then  a  Greek  physician,  called  Alexander, 
who  was  looking  on,  unable  to  restrain  his 
enthusiasm,  by  signs  gave  encouragement  to 
the  martyrs.  So  at  least  it  would  seem,  for 
all  at  once  we  learn  that  the  mob  roared  for 
Alexander,  as  one  who  urged  on  the  Christians 
to  obstinacy.  The  governor  sent  for  him, 
asked  who  he  was,  and  when  he  confessed 
that  he  was  a  Christian,  sent  him  to  prison. 

Attalus  was  now  led  forth,  with  a  tablet 
on  his  breast  on  which  was  written  in  Latin, 
"This  is  Attalus,  the  Christian." 

As  he  was  about  to  be  delivered  to  the 
tormentors,  some  one  whispered  to  the  proconsul 
that  the  man  was  a  Roman.  He  hesitated, 
and  sent  him  back  to  prison. 

Then  a  number  of  other  Christians  who 
had    Roman    citizenship    were    produced,    and 


BlanDina  tbe  Slave  13 

had  their  heads  struck  off.  Others  who  had 
not  this  privilege  were  delivered  over  to  the 
beasts.  And  now  some  of  those  who  had 
recanted  came  forward  and  offered  themselves 
to  death. 

Next  day  the  proconsul  was  again  in  his 
place  in  the  amphitheatre.  He  had  satisfied 
himself  that  Attalus  could  not  substantiate 
his  claim  to  citizenship,  so  he  ordered  him  to 
torture  and  death.  He  also  was  placed  in 
the  iron  chair  ;  after  which  he  and  Alexander 
were  given  up  to  be  devoured  by  the 
beasts. 

This  was  the  last  day  of  the  shows,  and  to 
crown  all,  Blandina  was  now  produced,  together 
with  a  boy  of  fifteen,  called  Ponticus.  He, 
like  Blandina,  had  been  compelled  daily  to 
witness  the  torments  to  which  the  rest  had 
been  subjected. 

And  now  the  same  hideous  round  of  tor- 
tures began,  and  Blandina  in  the  midst  of  her 
agony  continued  to  encourage  the  brave  boy 
till  he  died.  Blandina  had  been  roasted  in  the 
iron  chair  and  scourged. 

As  a  variety  she  was  placed  in  a  net.     Then 


14      TLbc  \DivQin  Saints  ant)  /[Darters 

the  gate  of  one  of  the  larger  dens  was  raised, 
and  forth  rushed  a  bull,  pawed  the  sand,  tossed 
his  head,  looked  round,  and  seeing  the  net, 
plunged  forward  with  bowed  head.  Next 
moment  Blandina  was  thrown  into  the  air, 
fell,  was  thrown  again,  then  gored — but  was 
happily  now  unconscious.  Thus  she  died,  and 
"  even  the  Gentiles  confessed  that  no  woman 
among  them  had  ever  endured  sufferings  as 
many  and  great."  But  not  even  then  was  their 
madness  and  cruelty  to  the  saints  satisfied,  for 
"...  those  who  were  suffocating  in  prison  were 
drawn  forth  and  cast  to  the  dogs  ;  and  they 
watched  night  and  day  over  the  remains  left 
by  beasts  and  fire,  however  mangled  they  might 
be,  to  prevent  us  from  burying  them.  The 
bodies,  after  exposure  and  abuse  in  every  pos- 
sible way  during  six  days,  were  finally  cast  into 
the  Rhone.  These  things  they  did.  as  if  they 
were  able  to  resist  God  and  prevent  their 
resurrection." 

The  dungeons  in  which  S.  Pothinus,  S.  Blan- 
dina, and  the  rest  of  the  martyrs  were  kept 
through  so  many  days,  are  shown  beneath 
the   abbey   church    of  Ainay  at   Lyons.     It  is 


BlanMna  tbe  Slave  15 

possible  enough  that  Christian  tradition  may 
have  preserved  the  remembrance  of  the  site. 
They  are  gloomy  cells,  without  light  or  air, 
below  the  level  of  the  river.  The  apertures 
by  which  they  are  entered  are  so  low  that 
the  visitor  is  obliged  to  creep  into  them  on 
his  hands  and  knees.  Traces  of  Roman  work 
remain.  Adjoining  is  a  crypt  that  was  used 
as  a  chapel  till  the  Revolution,  when  it  was 
desecrated.  It  is,  however,  again  restored,  the 
floor  has  been  inlaid  with  mosaics,  and  the 
walls  are  covered  with  modern  frescoes,  repre- 
senting the  passion  of  the  martyrs. 

What  makes  it  difficult  to  believe  that  these 
are  the  dungeons  is  that  the  abbey  above  them 
is  constructed  on  the  site  of  the  Athenasum 
founded  by  Caligula,  a  great  school  of  debate 
and  composition,  and  it  is  most  improbable 
that  the  town  prisons  should  have  been  under 
the  university  buildings.  In  all  likelihood  in 
the  early  Middle  Ages  these  vaults  were  found 
and  supposed  to  have  been  the  prisons  of  the 
martyrs,  and  supposition  very  rapidly  became 
assurance  that  they  were  so.  The  prison  in 
which  the  martyrs  were  enclosed  was  the  lignum 


1 6      Ubc  Dirgin  Saints  anb  /IDart^rs 

or  rol?ur,  which  was  certainly  not  below  the 
level  of  the  river. 

The  question  arises,  when  one  reads  stories 
of  such  inhuman  cruelties  done,  did  the  vic- 
tims suffer  as  acutely  as  we  suppose  ?  I 
venture  to "  think  not  at  the  time.  There 
can  be  no  question,  as  it  is  a  thing  repeatedly 
attested,  that  in  a  moment  of  great  excitement 
the  nerves  are  not  very  sensitive.  The  pain 
of  wounds  received  in  battle  is  not  felt  till 
after  the  battle  is  over.  Moreover,  it  may 
be  questioned  whether  the  human  system  can 
endure  pain  above  a  certain  grade — whether, 
in  fact,  beyond  a  limit,  insensibility  does  not 
set  in. 

I  attended  once  a  poor  lady  who  was  fright- 
fully burnt.  A  paraffin  lamp  set  fire  to  a 
gauze  or  lace  wrap  she  had  about  her  neck. 
All  her  throat  and  the  lower  portion  of  her 
face  were  frightfully  burnt.  I  was  repeatedly 
with  her,  but  she  was  unconscious  or  as  in  a 
sleep  ;  there  was  no  expression  of  anguish  in 
her  face.  She  quietly  sank  through  exhaustion. 
I  have  questioned  those  who  have  met  with 
shocking  accidents,  and  have  always  been  assured 


JSlanbina  tbe  Slave  17 

that  the  pain  began  when  nature  commenced 
its  labour  of  repair.  Pain,  excruciating  pain, 
can  be  endured,  and  for  a  long  period;  but 
I  think  that  when  carried  beyond  a  fixed 
limit  it  ceases  to  be  appreciable,  as  insensibility 
sets  in. 

This  is  a  matter  for  investigation,  and  it 
were  well  if  those  who  read  these  lines  were 
to  endeavour  to  collect  evidence  to  substantiate 
or  overthrow  what  is,  with  me,  only  an  opinion. 


II 

S.    CJECILIJ 


19 


S,    CiECILIA, 


II 

S.  CECILIA 

IN  1876,  when  I  was  writing  the  November 
volume  of  my  *'  Lives  of  the  Saints,"  and 
had  to  deal  with  the  Acts  of  S.  Caecilia,  I  saw 
at  once  that  they  were  eminently  untrust- 
worthy— they  were,  in  fact,  a  religious  romance, 
very  similar  to  others  of  the  like  nature  ;  and 
my  mistrust  was  deepened  when  I  found  that 
the  name  of  Cascilia  did  not  appear  in  either 
the  Roman  Kalendar  of  the  fourth  century, 
nor  in  the  Carthagenian  of  the  fifth. 

The  Acts  were  in  Greek,  and  it  was  not  till 
the  time  of  Pope  Gelasius  (496)  that  her  name 
appeared  at  all  prominently ;  then  he  intro- 
duced it  into  his  Sacramentary. 

The  Acts  as  we  have  them  cannot  be 
older  than  the  fifth  century,  and  contain  gross 
anachronisms.      They   make    her   suffer   when 


22      XTbe  Dtrgtn  Saints  anb  /IDart^rs 

Urban  was  Pope,  under  an  apocryphal  prefect, 
Turcius  Almachius  ;  but  the  date  of  Pope 
Urban  was  in  the  reign  of  Alexander  Severus, 
who  did  not  persecute  the  Church  at  all — who, 
in  fact,  favoured  the  Christians. 

But  although  there  is  so  much  to  make  one 
suspicious  as  to  the  very  existence  of  S.  Cascilia, 
a  good  many  facts  have  been  brought  to  light 
which  are  sufficient  to  show  that  it  was  the 
stupidity  of  the  composer  of  the  apocryphal 
Acts  which  has  thrown  such  doubt  over  the 
Virgin  Martyr. 

If  we  eliminate  what  is  obviously  due  to  the 
romantic  imagination  of  the  author  of  the  Acts 
in  the  fifth  century,  the  story  reduces  itself 
to  this. 

Cascilia  was  a  maiden  of  noble  family,  and 
her  parents  were  of  senatorial  rank.  From 
her  earliest  youth  she  was  brought  up  as  a 
Christian,  but  that  her  father  was  one  is  doubt- 
ful, as  he  destined  his  daughter  to  become  the 
wife  of  an  honourable  young  patrician  named 
Valerian,  who  was,  however,  a  pagan. 

Caecilia  would  not  hear  of  the  marriage  on 
this  account ;  and  Valerian,  who  loved  her  dearly, 


©♦  Ca^ctlta  23 

by  her  advice  went  to  Urban  the  Pope,  who 
was  living  in  concealment  in  the  Catacomb  in 
the  Appian  Way,  to  learn  something  about  the 
Faith.  Valerian  took  with  him  his  brother, 
Tiburtius  ;  they  were  both  convinced,  were 
baptised,  and,  as  they  confessed  Christ,  suffered 
martyrdom  ;  and  the  officer  who  arrested  them, 
named  Maximus,  also  believed  and  underwent 
the  same  fate.  All  three  were  laid  in  the 
Catacomb  of  Praetextatus. 

Caecilia,  in  the  meantime,  had  remained  un- 
molested in  her  father's  house  in  Rome. 

The  Prefect  resolved  to  have  her  put  to 
death  privately,  as  she  belonged  to  an  illustrious 
family,  perhaps  also  in  consideration  for  her 
father,  still  a  heathen. 

He  gave  orders  that  the  underground 
passages  for  heating  the  winter  apartments 
should  be  piled  with  wood,  and  an  intense  fire 
made,  and  that  the  room  in  which  Cascilia  was 
should  be  closed,  so  that  she  should  die  of 
suffocation.  This  was  done,  but  she  survived 
the  attempt.  This  is  by  no  means  unlikely. 
The  walls  were  heated  by  pipes  through  which 
the    hot    air    passed,    and    there    was    a    thick 


24      XTbe  XOivQin  Saints  ant)  /iDartprs 

pavement  of  concrete  and  mosaic  between  the 
fires  and  the  room.  Everything  depended  on 
the  chamber  being  shut  up,  and  there  being  no 
air  admitted ;  but  it  is  precisely  this  latter 
requisite  that  could  not  be  assured.  In  her 
own  house,  where  the  slaves  were  warmly 
attached  to  her,  nothing  would  be  easier  than 
to  withdraw  the  cover  of  the  opening  in  the 
ceiling,  by  means  of  which  ventilation  was 
secured.  By  some  means  or  other  air  was 
admitted,  and  although,  doubtless,  Caecilia 
suffered  discomfort  from  the  great  heat,  yet 
she  was  not  suffocated. 

The  chamber  was  the  Calidarium^  or  hot-air 
bath  attached  to  the  palace,  and  in  the  church 
of  S.  Caecilia  in  Trastevere  a  portion  of  this  is 
still  visible. 

As  the  attempt  had  failed,  the  Prefect  sent 
an  executioner  to  kill  her  with  the  sword. 

Her  beauty,  youth,  and  grace,  so  affected  the 
man  that,  although  he  smote  thrice  at  her  throat, 
he  did  not  kill  her.  It  was  against  the  law  to 
strike  more  than  thrice,  so  he  left  her  prostrate 
on  the  mosaic  floor  bathed  in  her  blood. 

No    sooner   was   the  executioner   gone   than 


S.  Caectlta  25 

from  all  sides  poured  in  her  relatives,  the  slaves, 
and  the  faithful  to  see  her,  and  to  receive  the 
last  sigh  of  the  Martyr.  They  found  her 
lying  on  the  marble  pavement,  half  conscious 
only,  and  they  dipped  their  kerchiefs  in  her 
blood,  and  endeavoured  to  staunch  the  wounds 
in  her  throat. 

She  lingered  two  days  and  nights  in  the 
same  condition,  and  without  moving,  hanging 
between  life  and  death  ;  and  then — so  say  the 
Acts — Pope  Urban  arrived,  braving  the  risk, 
from  his  hiding-place,  to  say  farewell  to  his 
dear  daughter  in  the  Faith.  Thereupon  she 
turned  to  him,  commended  to  him  the  care  of 
the  poor,  entreated  her  father  to  surrender 
his  house  to  the  Church,  and  expired.  In 
the  Acts  she  addresses  the  Pope  as  "  Your 
Beatitude,"  an  expression  used  in  the  fifth 
century,  and  certainly  not  in  the  third. 

She  died,  as  she  had  lain,  her  face  to  the 
ground,  her  hands  and  arms  declining  on  the 
right,  as  she  rested  on  that  side. 

The  same  night  her  body  was  enclosed  in 
a  cypress  chest,  and  was  conveyed  to  the 
cemetery  of  S.  Callixtus,  where   Urban  laid  it 


26      trbe  tDtrgin  Saints  anb  /IBart^cs 

in  a  chamber  "  near  that  in  which  reposed  his 
brother  prelates  and  martyrs." 

So  far  the  legend.     Now  let  us  see  whether 
it  is  possible  to  reconcile  it  with  history. 

In  the  first  place,  it  is  to  be  observed  that 
the  whole  of  the  difficulty  lies  with  Urban 
being  Pope.  If  we  suppose  that  in  the  original 
Acts  the  name  was  simply  '*  Urban  the  Bishop/' 
and  that  the  remodeller  of  the  Acts  took  the 
liberty  of  transforming  him  into  Pope  Urban, 
the  difficulty  vanishes  at  once.  He  may  have 
been  some  regionary  bishop  in  hiding.  He 
may  not  have  been  a  bishop  at  all,  but  a 
priest ;  and  the  writer,  ignorant  of  history, 
and  knowing  only  of  the  Urbans  as  Popes, 
may  have  given  rise  to  all  this  difficulty  by 
transforming  him  into  a  Pope. 

Now,  in  the  Acts,  the  Prefect  does  not 
speak  of  the  Emperor,  but  of  *'  Domini  nostri 
invictissimi  principes "  (our  Lords  the  un- 
conquered  Princes).  The  Emperor,  therefore, 
cannot  have  been  Alexander.  Now,  Ado  the 
martyrologist,  in  or  about  850,  must  have  re- 
ferred to  other  Acts  than  those  we  possess,  for 
he  enters  S.  Caecilia  as  having  suffered  under 


S*  Caecilla  27 

Marcus  Aurelius  and  Commodus — that  is 
to  say,  in  177.  This  explains  the  Prefect 
referring  to  the  orders  of  the  Princes. 

If  we  take  this  as  the  date,  and  Urban  as 
being  a  priest  or  bishop  of  the  time,  the 
anachronisms  are  at  an  end. 

That  the  Acts  should  have  been  in  Greek 
is  no  proof  that  they  were  not  drawn  up  in 
Rome,  for  Greek  was  the  language  of  the 
Church  there,  and  indeed  the  majority  of  the 
most  ancient  inscriptions  in  the  Catacombs  are 
in  that  language. 

So  much  for  the  main  difficulties.  Now 
let  us  see  what  positive  evidences  we  have 
to  substantiate  the  story. 

The  excavation  of  the  Cemetery  of  S.  Callix- 
tus,  which  was  begun  in  1854,  and  was  carried 
on  with  great  care  by  De  Rossi,  led  to  the 
clearing  out  of  a  crypt  in  which  the  early 
Bishops  of  Rome  had  been  laid.  The  bodies 
had  been  removed  when  Paschal  I.  conveyed 
so  many  of  those  of  the  saints  and  martyrs 
into  Rome,  on  account  of  the  ruin  into  which 
the  Catacombs  had  fallen,  but  their  epitaphs 
remained,    all    of    the    third    century,    and    in 


28      Ubc  XDivQin  Saints  anD  /ilbartprs 

Greek  ;  among  these,  that  of  Urbanus,  230  ; 
and  it  was  perhaps  precisely  this  fact  which 
led  the  recomposer  of  the  Acts  to  confound 
the  Urban  of  S.  Cascilia's  time  with  the  Pope. 
The  first  Pope  known  to  have  been  laid  there 
was  Zephyrinus,  in  218.  Here  also  was  found 
an  inscription  set  up  by  Damasus  I.,  recording 
how  that  the  bodies  of  bishops  and  priests, 
virgins  and  confessors  lay  in  that  place. 

Now  by  a  narrow,  irregular  opening  in  the 
rock,  entrance  is  obtained  to  a  further  chamber, 
about  twenty  feet  square,  lighted  by  a  luminare 
in  the  top,  or  an  opening  to  the  upper  air  cut 
in  the  tufa.  This,  there  can  be  no  manner  of 
doubt,  is  the  crypt  in  which  reposed  the  body 
of  S.  Caecilia. 

In  the  Acts  it  was  said  to  adjoin  that  in 
which  were  laid  the  Bishops  of  Rome  ;  though, 
as  these  bishops  were  of  later  date  than  Cascilia, 
if  we  take  her  death  to  have  been  in  177, 
their  crypt  must  have  been  dug  out  or  em- 
ployed for  the  purpose  of  receiving  their  bodies 
at  a  later  period. 

Again,  it  is  an  interesting  fact,  that  here  a 
number    of    the    tombstones    that    have    been 


S»  (T^ctlla  29 

discovered  bear  the  Cascilian  name,  showing  that 
this  cemetery  must  have  belonged  to  that  gens 
or  clan.  Not  only  so,  but  one  is  inscribed 
with  that  of  Septimus  Praetextatus  Cascilianus,  a 
servant  of  God  during  thirty  years.  It  will  be 
remembered  that  Praetextatus  was  the  name  of 
the  brother  of  Valerian,  who  was  betrothed  to 
Caecilia,  and  it  leads  one  to  suspect  that  the 
families  of  Valerian  and  of  Cascilia  were  akin. 

The  chapel  or  crypt  contains  frescoes.  In 
the  luminare  is  painted  a  female  figure  with 
the  hands  raised  in  prayer.  Beneath  this  a 
cross  with  a  lamb  on  each  side.  Below  are 
three  male  figures  with  the  names  Sebastianus, 
Curinus  (Quirinus),  and  Polycamus.  Sebastian 
is  doubtless  the  martyr  of  that  name  whose 
basilica  is  not  far  ofF.  Quirinus,  who  has  the 
corona  of  a  priest,  is  the  bishop  and  martyr 
of  Siscia,  whose  body  was  brought  in  420  to 
Rome.  Of  Polycamus  nothing  is  known,  save 
that  his  rehcs  were  translated  in  the  ninth 
century  to  S.  Prassede. 

Against  the  wall  lower  down  is  a  seventh- 
century  representation  of  S.  Cascilia,  richly 
clothed    with    necklace    and    bracelets  ;    below 


30      XTbe  WvQin  Saints  anb  /llbart^rs 

a  head  of  Christ  of  Byzantine  type,  and 
a  representation  of  S.  Urban.  But  these 
paintings,  which  are  late,  have  been  applied 
over  earlier  decoration  ;  behind  the  figure  of 
S.  Cascilia  is  mosaic,  and  that  of  Christ  is 
painted  on  the  old  porphyry  panelling.  There 
are  in  this  crypt  recesses  for  the  reception  of 
bodies,  and  near  the  entrance  an  arched  place 
low  enough  to  receive  a  sarcophagus ;  and 
there  are  traces  as  though  the  face  had  at  one 
time  been  walled  up. 

The  walls  are  covered  with  graffiti,  or  scribbles 
made  by  pilgrims.  An  inscription  also  remains, 
to  state  that  this  was  the  sepulchre  of  S.  Cascilia 
the  Martyr,  but  this  inscription  is  not  earlier 
than  the  ninth  or  tenth  century. 

In  817  Paschal  I.  was  Pope,  and  in  the 
following  year  he  removed  enormous  numbers 
of  the  remains  of  martyrs  from  the  Catacombs 
into  the  churches  of  Rome,  because  the  con- 
dition into  which  these  subterranean  cemeteries 
were  falling  was  one  of  ruin.  They  had  been 
exposed  to  the  depredations  of  the  Lombards, 
and  then  to  decay.  Some  had  fallen  in,  and 
were  choked. 


S»  Cecilia  31 

Precisely  this  Catacomb  had  been  plundered 
by  the  Lombard  king,  Astulf,  and  it  was  not 
known  whether  he  had  carried  off  the  body 
of  S.  Casciha  or  not.  All  those  of  the  former 
popes  Paschal  removed. 

In  844,  however,  Paschal  pretended  that  he 
had  seen  S.  Cascilia  in  a  dream,  who   had  in- 
formed him  that  she  still  lay  in  her  crypt  in  the 
Catacomb  of  S.  Callixtus.     No  reliance  can  be 
placed  on  the  word  of  a  man  so  unprincipled 
as    Paschal.     At    this   very  time    two    men  of 
the  highest  rank,  who  were  supporters  of  Louis 
the    Pious,    the    Emperor,    had    been    seized, 
dragged    to    the    Lateran    Palace,    their    eyes 
plucked  out,   and  then  beheaded.     The    Pope 
was  openly  accused  of  this  barbarous  act.     The 
Emperor  sent  envoys  to  examine  into  it,  but 
Paschal  threw  all    sorts  of  difficulties   in  their 
way.     He  refused  to  produce  the  murderers  ; 
he  asserted  that  they  were  guilty  of  no  crime 
in  killing  these  unfortunate  men,  and  he  secured 
the  assassins  by  investing  them  with  a  half-sacred 
character  as  servants  of  the  Church  of  S.  Peter. 
Himself  he  exculpated  from  all  participation  in 
the  deed  by  a  solemn,  expurgatorial  oath.     Such 


32      Ube  IDtrgtn  Saints  mt>  /iDart^rs 

was  the  man  who  pretended  to  visions  of  the 
saints.  His  dream  was  an  afterthought.  In 
the  clearing  out  of  the  crypt  of  S.  Caecilia, 
the  wall  that  had  closed  the  grave  was  broken 
through,  and  the  cypress  chest  was  disclosed. 
Whereupon  Paschal  promptly  declared  he  had 
dreamt  that  so  it  would  be  found.  The  body 
was  found  in  the  coffin,  incorrupt,  and  at  its 
feet  were  napkins  rolled  together  and  stained 
with  blood. 

This  discovery,  which  seems  wholly  improba- 
ble, is  yet  not  impossible.  If  the  arcosolium 
had  been  hermetically  sealed  up,  the  body  need 
not  have  fallen  to  dust ;  and,  as  a  fact,  De 
Rossi  did  discover,  along  with  Marchi,  in  1853, 
a  body  in  the  Via  Appia,  without  the  smallest 
trace  of  alteration  and  decay  in  the  bones.^ 

Paschal  himself  relates  that  he  lined  the  chest 
with  fringed  silk,  and  covered  the  body  with 
a  silk  veil.  It  was  then  enclosed  in  a  sarco- 
phagus of  white  marble,  and  laid  under  the 
high  altar  of  the  Church  of  S.  Cascilia  in 
Trastevere. 

This    church    has    been    made    out    of    the 

^  Rom.  Sott.  ii.  125. 


S*  Cecilia  33 

old  house  of  S.  Caecilia,  and  to  this  day,  not- 
withstanding rebuildings,  it  bears  traces  of  its 
origin. 

Nearly  eight  hundred  years  after  this  trans- 
lation, Sfondrati,  cardinal  of  S.  Cascilia,  being 
about  to  carry  on  material  alterations  in  the 
basilica,  came  on  the  sarcophagus  lying  in  a 
vault  under  the  altar.  It  was  not  alone — 
another  was  with  it. 

In  the  presence  of  witnesses  one  of  these 
was  opened.  It  contained  a  coffin  or  chest  of 
cypress  wood.  The  Cardinal  himself  removed 
the  cover.  First  was  seen  the  costly  lining 
and  the  silken  veil,  with  which  nearly  eight 
centuries  before  Paschal  had  covered  the  body. 
It  was  faded,  but  not  decayed,  and  through 
the  almost  transparent  texture  could  be  seen 
the  glimmer  of  the  gold  of  the  garments  in 
which  the  martyr  was  clad.  After  a  pause 
of  a  few  minutes,  the  Cardinal  lifted  the  veil, 
and  revealed  the  form  of  the  maiden  martyr 
lying  in  the  same  position  in  which  she  had 
died  on  the  floor  of  her  father's  hall.  Neither 
Urban  nor  Paschal  had  ventured  to  alter  that. 
She  lay  there,  clothed  in  a  garment  woven  with 

3 


34      XTbe  XDivQin  Saints  anb  /Ilbatti^ts 

gold  thread,  on  which  were  the  stains  of  blood  ; 
and  at  her  feet  were  the  rolls  of  linen  men- 
tioned by  Paschal,  as  found  with  the  body. 
She  was  lying  on  her  right  side,  the  arms  sunk 
from  the  body,  her  face  turned  to  the  ground  ; 
the  knees  slightly  bent  and  drawn  together. 
The  attitude  was  that  of  one  in  a  deep  sleep. 
On  the  throat  were  the  marks  of  the  wounds 
dealt  by  the  clumsy  executioner. 

Thus  she  had  lain,  preserved  from  decay 
through  thirteen  centuries. 

When  this  discovery  was  made.  Pope 
Clement  VIII.  was  lying  ill  at  Frascati,  but 
he  empowered  Cardinal  Baronius  and  Bosio, 
the  explorer  of  the  Catacombs,  to  examine  into 
the  matter  ;  and  both  of  these  have  left  an 
account  of  the  condition  in  which  the  body 
was  found.  For  five  weeks  all  Rome  streamed 
to  the  church  to  see  the  body  ;  and  it  was  not 
until  S.  Csecilia's  Day  that  it  was  again  sealed 
up  in  its  coffin  and  marble  sarcophagus. 

Cardinal  Sfondrati  gave  a  commission  to  the 
sculptor  Maderna  to  reproduce  the  figure  of 
the  Virgin  Martyr  in  marble  in  the  attitude  in 
which  found,  and  beneath   this   is  the  inscrip- 


S*  C^cilta  35 

tion  : — "  So  I  show  to  you  in  marble  the 
representation  of  the  most  holy  Virgin  Cascilia, 
in  the  same  position  in  which  I  myself  saw 
her  incorrupt  lying  in  her  sepulchre." 

A  woodcut  was  pubHshed  at  the  time  of  the 
discovery  figuring  it,  but  this  is  now  extremely 
scarce. 

In  the  second  sarcophagus  were  found  the 
bones  of  three  men  ;  two,  of  the  same  age  and 
size,  had  evidently  died  by  decapitation.  The 
third  had  its  skull  broken,  and  the  abundant 
hair  was  clotted  with  blood,  as  though  the 
martyr  had  been  beaten  to  death  and  his  skull 
fractured  with  the  plumbatte  or  leaded  scourges. 

The  Acts  of  S.  Cascilia  expressly  say  that 
this  was  the  manner  of  death  of  Maximus. 
The  other  two  bodies  were  doubtless  those  of 
Valerian  and  Tiburtius. 

Of  the  statue  by  Maderna,  Sir  Charles  Bell 
says  :  "  The  body  lies  on  its  side,  the  limbs 
a  little  drawn  up;  the  hands  are  delicate  and 
fine — they  are  not  locked,  but  crossed  at  the 
wrists  ;  the  arms  are  stretched  out.  The 
drapery  is  beautifully  modelled,  and  modestly 
covers   the   limbs.  ...  It   is   the   statue   of  a 


36      Zbc  IDttain  Saints  an^  /llbatt^ts 

lady,  perfect  in  form,  and  affecting  from  the 
resemblance  to  reality  in  the  drapery  of  the 
white  marble,  and  the  unspotted  appearance 
of  the  statue  altogether.  It  lies  as  no  living 
body  could  lie,  and  yet  correctly,  as  the  dead 
when  left  to  expire — I  mean  in  the  gravitation 
of  the  limbs." 

S.  Cascilia  is  associated  with  music  :  she  is 
regarded  as  the  patroness  of  the  organ.  This 
is  entirely  due  to  the  highly  imaginative  Acts 
of  the  Fifth  and  Sixth  Century. 

"  Orpheus  could  lead  the  savage  race  ; 
And  trees  uprooted  left  their  place, 

Sequacious  of  the  lyre  : 
But  bright  CaeciHa  rais'd  the  wonder  higher  : 
When  to  her  organ  vocal  breath  was  given, 
An  angel  heard,  and  straight  appear'd, 

Mistaking  earth  for  heaven." 

So  sang  Dryden.  Chaucer  has  given  the 
Legend  of  S.  Cascilia  as  the  Second  Nun's  Tale 
in  the  Canterbury  Pilgrimage. 

There  is  a  marvellous  collection  of  ancient 
statues  in  Rome,  in  the  Torlonia  Gallery.  It 
was  made  by  the  late  Prince  Torlonia.  Un- 
happily,  he    kept    three    sculptors    in    constant 


S.  Ca^cilta  37 

employ  over  these  ancient  statues,  touching 
them  up,  adding,  mending,  altering.  It  is  a 
vast  collection,  and  now  the  Torlonia  family 
desire  to  sell  it  ;  but  no  one  will  buy,  for  no 
one  can  trust  any  single  statue  therein ;  no 
one  knows  what  is  ancient  and  what  is  new. 
The  finest  old  works  are  of  no  value,  because 
of  the  patching  and  correcting  to  which  they 
have  been  subjected. 

It  is  the  same  with  the  Acts  of  the  Martyrs  : 
they  have  been  tinkered  at  and  *' improved'* 
in  the  fifth  and  sixth  centuries,  and  even  later, 
no  doubt  with  the  best  intention,  but  with 
the  result  that  they  have — or  many  of  them 
have — lost  credit  altogether. 

What  a  buyer  of  statuary  from  the  Torlonia 
Gallery  would  insist  on  doing,  would  be  to  drag 
the  statues  out  into  the  sunshine  and  go  over 
them  with  a  microscope  and  see  where  a  piece 
of  marble  had  been  added,  or  where  a  new  face 
had  been  put  on  old  work.  Then  he  would 
be  able  to  form  a  judgment  as  to  the  value 
of  the  statue  or  bust.  And  this  is  precisely 
the  treatment  to  which  the  legends  of  the 
martyrs     have     to    be     subjected.      But     this 


38      Ube  IDtrgin  Saints  anb  /iDatt^rs 

treatment  tells  sometimes  in  their  favour.  Nar- 
ratives that  at  first  sight  seem  conspicuously 
false  or  manufactured,  will  under  the  critical 
microscope  reveal  the  sutures,  and  show  what 
is  old  and  genuine,  and  what  is  adventitious 
and  worthless. 


Ill 

S.    JGNES 


39 


Ill 

S.    AGNES 

ABOUT  a  mile  from  the  Porta  Pia,  beside 
the  Nomentine  road  that  leads  from 
Rome  to  the  bridge  over  the  Arno  and  to 
Montana,  are  the  basilica  and  catacomb  of 
S.  Agnese.  We  are  there  on  high  ground,  and 
here  the  parents  of  the  saint  had  a  villa  and 
vineyard. 

They  were  Christians,  and  their  garden  had 
an  entrance  to  a  catacomb  in  which  the  faithful 
were  interred.  We  know  this,  because  some 
of  the  burials  in  the  passages  underground  are 
of  more  ancient  date  than  the  martyrdom  of 
S.  Agnes,  which  took  place  in  304. 

A  little  lane,  very  dirty,  leads  down 
hence  into  the  Salarian  road,  and  there  is 
a  mean  dribble  of  a  stream  in  a  hollow 
below. 

41 


42      trbe  IDttgin  Saints  anb  /Iftarti^tB 

The  rock  is  all  of  the  volcanic  tufa  that  is 
so  easily  cut,  but  which  in  the  roads  resolves 
itself  into  mud  of  the  dirtiest  and  most  con- 
sistent description. 

New  Rome  is  creeping  along  the  road,  its 
gaunt  and  eminently  vulgar  houses  are  destroy- 
ing the  beauty  of  this  road,  which  commanded 
exquisite  views  of  the  Sabine  and  Alban 
mountains,  and  the  lovely  Torlonia  gardens 
have  already  been  destroyed.  Nor  is  this 
all,  for  the  foundations  of  these  useless  and 
hideous  buildings  are  being  driven  down  into 
more  than  one  old  catacomb,  which  as  soon  as 
revealed  is  destroyed. 

Where  now  stands  the  basilica  of  S.  Agnese 
was  the  catacomb  in  which  her  body  was  laid. 
The  church  is  peculiar,  in  that  it  is  half  under- 
ground. One  has  to  descend  into  it  by  a 
staircase  of  forty-five  ancient  marble  steps,  lined 
with  inscriptions  taken  from  the  catacomb. 
The  cause  for  this  peculiarity  is  not  that  the 
soil  has  risen  about  the  basiUca,  but  that  when 
it  was  proposed  to  build  the  church  over  the 
tomb  of  the  saint  who  was  below  in  the  cata- 
comb, the  whole  of  the  crust  of  rock  and  earth 


S»  Hones  43 

above  was  removed,  so  that  the  subterranean 
passages  were  exposed  to  light  ;  and  then  the 
foundations  of  the  sacred  edifice  were  laid  on 
this  level,  and  were  carried  up  above  the  surface 
of  the  ground. 

But  this  is  not  the  only  church  that  bears 
the  name  of  S.  Agnes  :  there  is  another  in  Rome 
itself,  opposite  the  Torre  Mellina,  on  the  site 
of  her  martyrdom,  in  the  Piazza  Navona, 
which  occupies  the  place  of  the  old  circus  of 
Domitian.  It  is  a  very  ugly  building  of  1642, 
but  contains  a  tolerable  representation,  in  relief, 
of  the  martyrdom  of  the  saint. 

Unfortunately  we  have  not  got  the  Acts 
of  the  martyrdom  of  S.  Agnes  in  their  original 
form.  It  was  the  custom  of  the  Church  to  have 
scribes  present  at  the  interrogation  and  death 
of  a  martyr,  who  took  down  in  shorthand  the 
questions  put  and  the  answers  made,  and  the 
sentence  of  the  judge.  These  records,  which 
were  of  the  highest  value,  were  preserved  in 
the  archiv^es  of  the  Roman  Church.  Unhappily, 
at  a  later  age,  such  very  simple  accounts, 
somewhat  crude  maybe  in  style,  and  entirely 
deficient    in   the    miraculous,  did  not   suit    the 


44      Ube  IDirotn  Saints  anb  /Iftarti^rs 

popular  taste.  Meanwhile  the  stories  of  the 
martyrs  had  been  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth, 
and  various  additions  had  been  made  to  give 
them  a  smack  of  romance ;  the  account  of  the 
deaths  was  embellished  with  marvels,  and  made 
excruciating  by  the  piling  up  of  tortures  ;  and 
then  the  popular  voice  declared  that  the 
persecutors  must  have  been  punished  at  once  ; 
so  it  was  fabled  that  lightning  fell  and  consumed 
them,  or  that  the  earth  opened  and  swallowed 
them. 

Now,  when  the  Acts  of  Martyrs  were  found 
to  contain  nothing  of  all  this,  then  writers  set 
to  work — not  with  the  intention  of  deceiving, 
but  with  the  idea  that  the  genuine  Acts  were 
defective — to  recompose  the  stories,  by  grafting 
into  the  original  narrative  all  the  rubbish  that 
had  passed  current  in  popular  legend.  Thus 
it  has  come  to  pass  that  so  few  of  the  Acts  of 
the  Martyrs,  as  we  have  them,  are  in  their 
primitive  form.  They  have  been  more  or  less 
stuffed  out  with  fabulous  matter. 

The  Acts  of  S.  Agnes  are  in  this  condition, 
although  not  so  grossly  meddled  with  as  some 
others  have  been.     That  she  was  a  real  martyr, 


©♦  Bgnes  45 

and  that  the  broad  outlines  of  her  story  are 
true,  there  can  be  no  doubt. 

The  martyrdom  took  place  during  the  reign 
of  Diocletian. 

In  304  he  was  in  Italy.  He  had  come  to 
Rome  the  preceding  year  to  celebrate  the 
twentieth  year  of  the  reign  of  his  colleague, 
Maximian,  and  at  the  same  time  the  triumph 
over  the  Persians.  He  left  Rome  in  ill  humour 
at  the  independence  of  the  citizens,  after  having 
been  accustomed  to  the  servility  of  the  Easterns; 
the  day  was  December  20th,  and  he  went  to 
Ravenna.  The  weather  was  cold  and  wet,  and 
he  was  chilled,  so  that  he  suffered  all  the  rest 
of  the  winter,  and  became  irritable  as  his  health 
failed.  However,  he  went  back  to  Rome ; 
and  at  this  time  several  martyrdoms  ensued,  as 
that  of  S.  Soteris,  a  virgin  of  the  noble  family 
from  which  sprang  S.  Ambrose,  also  the  boy 
Pancras,  and  S.  Sebastian.  But  the  most 
notable  was  Agnes. 

She  was  aged  only  thirteen,  and  was  the 
daughter  of  noble  and  wealthy  parents,  who 
were,  as  already  said.  Christians. 

Her  riches  and  beauty  induced  the  son  of  a 


46      Ubc  VivQin  Saints  anb  /Ilbart^ts 

former  prefect  to  seek  her  hand  in  marriage. 
Agnes,  however,  refused.  She  had  no  desire 
to  become  a  wife  ;  at  all  events,  at  so  early  an 
age  ;  and,  moreover,  she  would  on  no  account 
be  united  to  a  pagan.  *'  I  am  already  engaged 
to  One,"  she  said  :  "to  Him  I  shall  ever  keep 
my  troth." 

Not  understanding  what  she  meant,  he 
inquired  further  ;  and  she  is  reported  to  have 
replied  in  an  allegorical  strain  :  *'  He  has 
already  bound  me  to  Him  by  His  betrothal 
ring,  and  has  adorned  me  with  precious  jewels. 
He  has  placed  a  sign  upon  my  brow  that 
I  should  love  none  as  I  love  Him.  He  has 
revealed  unto  me  treasures  incomparable,  which 
He  has  promised  to  give  me  if  I  persevere. 
Honey  and  milk  has  He  bestowed  on  me  by 
His  words.  I  have  partaken  of  His  body, 
and  with  His  blood  has  He  adorned  my 
cheeks." 

It  must  not,  however,  be  supposed  that  this 
was  actually  what  she  said.  There  was  then 
no  scribe  present  to  take  the  sentences  down  ; 
they  are  words  put  into  her  mouth  at  a  later 
period  by  a  romance  writer. 


The  young  man  was  incensed,  and  com- 
plained to  her  father,  who  would  in  no  way 
force  his  daughter's  inclinations.  The  youth, 
unquestionably,  did  not  understand  her,  and 
supposed  that  she  had  already  given  her  heart 
to  some  earthly  lover. 

Presently  it  all  came  out.  Agnes  was  a 
Christian,  and,  as  a  Christian,  would  not  listen 
to  his  suit. 

Then,  in  a  rage,  the  young  man  rushed  off 
and  denounced  her  to  the  prefect,  who  sent 
immediately  for  her  parents,  and  threatened 
them.  They  were  weak  in  the  faith  ;  and, 
returning  home  trembling,  urged  their  daughter 
to  accept  the  youth.  She,  however,  steadfastly 
refused. 

There  was  now  nothing  for  it  but  for  her  to 
appear  before  the  Prefect  of  Rome.  She  stood 
before  his  tribunal  with  calmness  and  confidence. 

"  Come,"  said  he,  *'  be  not  headstrong  :  you 
are  only  a  child,  remember,  though  forward  for 
your  age." 

"  I  may  be  a  child,"  replied  Agnes  ;  ''  but 
faith  does  not  depend  on  years,  but  on  the 
heart." 


48      Zhc  XDivQin  Saints  an^  /Iftatti^ts 

The  prefect  presently  lost  his  temper,  and 
declared  roundly  :  "  I  will  tell  you  what  shall 
be  done  with  you  ;  you  shall  be  stripped  and 
driven  naked  forth  to  the  jeers  and  insults  of 
the  rabble." 

Then  the  clothes  were  taken  off  the  slender 
body  of  the  girl.  Thereupon  she  loosened 
the  band  that  confined  her  abundant  golden 
hair,  and  it  fell  in  waves  over  her  body  and 
covered  her  to  the  knees. 

"You  may  expose  me  to  insult,"  said  she; 
"  but  I  have  the  angel  of  God  as  my  defence. 
For  the  only-begotten  Son  of  God,  whom 
you  know  not,  will  be  to  me  an  impenetrable 
wall  and  a  guardian;  never  sleeping,  and  an 
unflagging  protector." 

"  Let  her  be  bound,"  ordered  the  judge, 
sullenly. 

Then  the  executioner  turned  over  a  quantity 
of  manacles,  and  selected  the  smallest  pair  he 
could  find,  and  placed  them  round  her  wrists. 

Agnes,  with  a  smile,  shook  her  hands,  and 
they  fell  clanking  at  her  feet. 

The  prefect  then  ordered  her  to  death  by 
the  sword. 


S*  Hanes  49 

The  Roman  tradition  is  that  she  suffered 
where  is  now  her  church,  by  the  Piazza 
Navona ;  but  executions  were  never  carried 
out  within  the  walls  of  Rome.  She  was  taken 
to  the  place  where  she  was  to  die.  Here  she 
knelt,  and  with  her  own  hands  drew  forward 
her  hair,  so  as  to  expose  her  neck  to  the 
blow.  A  pause  ensued  ;  the  executioner  was 
trembling  with  emotion,  and  could  not  brandish 
his  sword. 

The  interpolated  Acts  say  that  before  this 
an  angel  had  brought  her  a  white  robe,  which 
she  put  over  her.  What  is  probable  is  that 
the  magistrate,  ashamed  of  what  he  had  done, 
suffered  one  of  those  angels  of  mercy,  the 
deaconesses,  to  reclothe  the  girl. 

As  the  child  knelt  in  her  white  robe,  with 
her  head  inclined,  her  arms  crossed  on  her 
breast,  and  her  golden  hair  hanging  to  the 
ground,  she-  must  have  looked  like  a  beautiful 
lily,  stooping  under  its  weight  of  blossom. 

"  And  thus,  bathed  in  her  rosy  blood," 
says  the  author  of  the  Acts,  "  Christ  took  to 
Himself  His  bride  and  martyr." 

Her  parents  received  the  body,  and  carried 

4 


50      Zbc  ViVQin  Saints  ant)  /IDart^rs 

it  to  the  cemetery  they  had  in  their  vineyard 
on  the  Nomentian  Way,  and  there  laid  it  in 
a  loculus,  a  recess  cut  in  the  side  of  one  of 
the  passages  underground.  It  was  probably 
just  under  one  of  the  luminaria^  or  openings 
to  the  upper  air,  which  allowed  light  to  enter 
the  Catacombs  ;  for  here,  two  days  later, 
Emerentiana,  a  catechumen,  the  foster-sister 
of  Agnes,  was  found  kneeling  by  her  grave  ; 
and  the  pagan  rabble,  peering  in  and  seeing 
her,  pelted  her  with  stones,  stunned,  and  then 
buried  her  under  the  earth  and  sand  they 
threw  in. 

Constantine  the  Great  built  the  church  over 
the  tomb,  removing  the  upper  crust  ;  but  it  was 
rebuilt  by  Honorius  I.,  between  625  and  638. 
It  was  altered  in  1490  by  Innocent  VIII.  ; 
but  retains  more  of  the  ancient  character  than 
most  of  the  Roman  churches. 

The  day  on  which  Agnes  suffered  was  January 
2 1  St.  The  memory  of  her  has  never  faded 
from  the  Church.  It  is  said  that  her  parents 
dreamed,  seven  days  after  her  death,  that  they 
saw  her  in  light,  surrounded  by  a  Virgin  band, 
and  with  a   white  lamb   at  her  side.     In  com- 


&.  Uqwcb  si 

memoration  of  this  dream — which  not  impro- 
bably did  take  place — the  Roman  Church 
observes  in  her  honour  the  28th  of  January  as 
well  as  the  actual  day  of  her  death. 

So  ancient  is  the  cult  of  S.  Agnes,  that,  next 
to  the  Evangelists  and  Apostles,  no  saint's 
effigy  is  older.  It  appears  on  the  ancient  glass 
vessels  used  by  the  Christians  in  the  early  part 
of  the  century  in  which  she  di-ed,  with  her 
name  inscribed,  which  leaves  no  doubt  as  to 
her  identity. 

Mrs.  Jameson  says  of  the  Church  of  S.  Agnese, 
in  Rome  :  "  Often  have  I  seen  the  steps  of  this 
church,  and  the  church  itself,  so  crowded  with 
kneeling  worshippers  at  Matins  and  Vespers, 
that  I  could  not  make  my  way  among  them  ; 
principally  the  women  of  the  lower  orders, 
with  their  distaffs  and  market  baskets,  who 
had  come  thither  to  pray,  through  the  inter- 
cession of  the  patron  saint,  for  the  gifts  of 
meekness  and  chastity." 

In  the  corrupted  Acts,  it  is  told  that  Agnes 
was  set  on  a  pyre  to  be  burned  to  death,  but 
that  the  fire  was  miraculously  extinguished. 
This  is  purely  apocryphal.     It    originates  in  a 


52      Ube  WvQin  Saints  an^  /iDart^ra 

passage  by  S.  Ambrose,  in  which  he  speaks  of 
her  hands  having  been  stretched  over  the  fire 
on  a  pagan  altar,  to  force  her  to  do  sacrifice. 
This  has  been  magnified  into  an  immense  pyre. 
"At  this  age/'  said  he,  "a  young  girl 
trembles  at  an  angry  look  from  her  mother  ; 
the  prick  of  a  needle  draws  tears.  Yet,  fearless 
under  the  bloody  hands  of  her  executioners, 
Agnes  is  immovable  under  the  heavy  chains 
which  weigh  her  down  ;  ignorant  of  death,  but 
ready  to  die,  she  presents  her  body  to  the  edge 
of  the  sword.  Dragged  against  her  will  to 
the  altar,  she  holds  forth  her  arms  to  Christ 
through  the  fires  of  the  sacrifice  ;  and  her 
hand  forms,  even  in  those  flames,  the  sign 
which  is  the  trophy  of  a  victorious  Saviour. 
She  presents  her  neck  and  her  two  hands  to  the 
fetters  which  they  produce  for  her  ;  but  it  is 
impossible  to  find  any  small  enough  to  encircle 
her  delicate  limbs." 


IV 

FEBRONIA    OF    SIBJPTE 


S3 


FEBRONIA   OF   SIBAPTE. 


IV 

FEBRONIA    OF    SIBAPTE 

THE  Church  had  endured  a  long  period 
of  peace  after  the  persecution  of  Decius, 
in  250  ;  and  in  the  half-century  that  had 
followed,  although  there  had  been  recrudes- 
cences of  persecution,  it  had  been  spasmodic 
and  local. 

During  those  fifty  years  the  Church  had  made 
great  way.  Conversions  had  been  numerous, 
persons  in  high  station  suffered  not  only  their 
slaves,  but  their  wives  and  children,  to  profess 
themselves  Christians.  Places  about  the  court, 
even  in  the  imperial  household,  were  filled 
with  Christians  ;  and  even  some  were  appointed 
to  be  governors  of  provinces,  with  exemption 
from  being  obliged  to  assist  at  the  usual 
sacrifices.     The    Christians    built    churches    of 

55 


56      Uhc  VitQin  Saints  anb  /llbarti^ts 

their  own,  and  these  not  by  any  means  small 
and  such  as  might  escape  observation. 

But,  internally,  there  had  been  a  great 
development  of  her  own  powers  in  the  Church, 
such  as  had  not  been  possible  when  she  was 
proscribed,  and  could  only  exercise  her  vital 
functions  in  secret. 

And  among  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
and  significant  phenomena  of  this  vigorous 
expansion  of  life  was  the  initiation  of  monastic 
life.  In  Syria  and  in  Egypt  there  had  for 
long  been  something  of  the  kind,  but  not 
connected  with  Christianity. 

In  Palestine  were  the  Essenes.  They 
numbered  about  four  thousand  ;  they  lived  in 
convents,  and  led  a  strange  life.  Five  writers 
of  antiquity  speak  of  them — Josephus,  Philo, 
Pliny  the  Elder,  Epiphanius  and  Hippolytus. 
They  were  a  Jewish  sect,  a  revolt  against 
Pharisaism,  and  a  survival  of  the  schools  of 
the  prophets. 

Of  fervent  and  exalted  piety,  of  ardent 
conviction  impatient  of  the  puerilities  and  the 
bondage  of  Rabbinism,  they  sought  to  live 
to  God  in  meditation  and  prayer  and  study. 


ffebronta  of  Stbapte  57 

They  built  for  themselves  great  houses  on 
the  eastern  shore  of  the  Dead  Sea,  which 
they  occupied.  They  observed  the  law  of 
Moses  with  great  literalness  ;  they  had  all 
things  in  common  ;  they  fasted,  prayed,  and  saw 
visions.  They  did  not  marry,  they  abstained 
from  wine,  they  tilled  the  soil  when  not 
engaged  in  prayer.  They  were,  in  a  word, 
monks,  but  Jewish  monks. 

When  Christianity  spread,  it  entered  into 
and  gave  a  new  spirit  to  these  communities 
without   their  changing  form. 

In  Egypt,  in  like  manner  were  the  Thera- 
putae,  not  Jews,  nor  confined  to  Egypt,  but 
most  numerous  there.  They  were  conspicuous 
for  their  habits  of  great  austerity  and  self- 
mortification.  They  left  their  homes,  gave  up 
their  substance,  fled  towns  and  lived  in  solitary 
places,  in  little  habitations  or  cells  apart  yet 
not  distant  from  one  another.  Each  had  his 
little  oratory  for  prayer  and  praise.  They 
neither  ate  nor  drank  till  the  sun  set.  Some 
ate  only  once  in  three  days,  and  then  only 
bread,  flavoured  with  salt  and  hyssop.  They 
prayed   twice    a   day,    and    between    the    times 


58      Ube  IDtrgtn  Saints  anb  /llbart^rs 

of  prayer  read,  meditated  or  worked.  Men 
and  women  belonged  to  the  order,  but  lived 
separately  though  sometimes  praying  in  common. 

Here  again  we  see  the  shell  into  which 
the  new  life  entered,  without  really  changing 
or  greatly  modifying  the  external  character. 

Doubtless  the  teaching  of  the  Gospel  reached 
these  societies,  was  accepted,  and  gradually 
gave  to  them  a  Christian  complexion — that 
was  all. 

Whether  this  sort  of  life  was  in  accordance 
with  the  Gospel^  was  not  doubted  by  them, 
having  before  them  the  example  of  Christ 
who  retreated  into  the  wilderness  for  forty 
days,  and  His  words  exhorting  to  the  renuncia- 
tion of  everything  that  men  hold  dear,  and 
the  recommendation  to  sell  everything,  give 
to  the  poor,  and  follow  in  His  footsteps. 

It  is  significant  that  it  was  precisely  in 
Palestine  where  the  Essenes  had  flourished, 
and  in  Egypt  that  the  Therapeutae  had  main- 
tained such  numerous  colonies  that  we  find 
the  most  vigorous  development  of  monachism. 
It  is  not  possible  to  doubt  that  the  one  slid 
into  the  other  imperceptibly. 


jfebtonla  of  Slbapte  59 

The  persecution  of  Diocletian  broke  out 
in  304.  At  that  time  there  was  at  Sibapte, 
in  Syria,  a  convent  of  fifty  virgins. 

One  of  these,  named  Febronia,  aged  eighteen, 
was  the  niece  of  the  abbess,  Bryene.  She  was 
wondrously  fair  of  face  and  graceful  of  form, 
and  the  old  sisters  seem  to  have  regarded  her 
with  reverence  as  well  as  love,  because  of  her 
marvellous  loveliness  of  body  as  well  as  inno- 
cence of  soul.  Apparently  when  quite  young 
she  had  lost  her  parents,  and  had  been  taken 
by  her  aunt  into  the  convent  in  earliest  infancy, 
so  that  she  had  grown  up  among  the  sisters, 
as  a  sweet  flower,  utterly  ignorant  of  the  world. 

She  had  studied  Scripture  so  deeply,  and 
was  so  spiritual  in  mind,  that  many  ladies 
living  in  the  cities  of  Syria  came  to  visit  and 
consult  her.'  Bryene  drew  a  curtain  between 
her  niece  and  those  who  visited  her,  so  as  not 
to  distract  her  thoughts,  as  also  not  to  expose 
her  to  the  gaze  of  vulgar  curiosity. 

One  day  a  young  heathen  woman  came  to 
the  monastery  in  the  first  grief  at  the  loss  of 
her  husband,  to  whom  she  had  been  married 
but  seven  months.     She  had  found  no  comfort 


6o      ube  MvQin  Saints  anb  /libart^ts 

in  the  religion  of  her  parents,  who  could  not 
assure  her  that  the  soul  had  any  life  after 
death  ;  it  was  no  true  consolation  to  her  to 
set  up  a  monument  in  honour  of  the  deceased, 
and  so,  hearing  of  Febronia,  she  came  to 
Bryene,  and  falling  at  her  feet,  entreated  to 
be  allowed  to  tell  her  trouble  to  the  girl 
Febronia. 

The  abbess  hesitated,  as  the  woman  was  a 
pagan  ;  but  at  length,  moved  by  her  tears  and 
persistency,  gave  consent,  admitted  her  into 
the  cell  of  the  nun,  and  allowed  her  to  tarry 
with  her  as  long  as  she  pleased. 

They  passed  the  night  together.  Febronia 
opened  the  Gospel  and  read  to  the  broken- 
hearted woman  the  words  of  life.  They 
fell  on  good  ground.  The  widow  wept  and 
listened,  and  wept  again,  and  as  the  sun  rose 
on  them,  she  begged  to  be  properly  instructed, 
so  as  to  receive  baptism. 

When  she  was  gone,  "  Who,"  asked  Febronia, 
"  was  that  strange  woman  who  came  to 
me,  and  who  cried  as  though  her  heart 
would  break  when  I  read  the  Scriptures  to 
her  ? " 


ffebronta  of  Stbapte  6i 

"  It  was  Hiera,"  answered  the  nun  Thomais, 
who  afterwards  committed  the  whole  narrative 
to  writing.     "  Hiera  is  the  widow  of  a  senator." 

"  Oh,"  said  Febronia,  "  why  did  you  not 
inform  me  of  her  rank  ?  I  have  been  talking 
to  her  just  as  if  she  had  been  my  sister." 

The  noble  widow  did  become  the  sister  of 
the  nun  in  the  faith,  and  in  the  family  of 
Christ  ;  and  when,  some  time  after,  Febronia 
fell  very  ill,  Hiera  insisted  on  being  allowed 
to  be  with  her  and  nurse  her  with  her  own 
hands. 

Febronia  was  but  convalescent,  and  looking 
white  as  a  lily,  when  Selenus,  charged  with 
the  execution  of  the  imperial  decree  against 
Christians,  arrived  at  Sibapte.  He  was  accom- 
panied by  his  nephews  Lysimachus  and  Primus, 
the  former  of  .whom  was  suspected  by  Diocletian 
of  having  a  leaning  towards  Christianity,  as 
his  mother  had  been  of  the  household  of  faith, 
and  he  was  a  youth  of  a  singularly  meditative 
and  temperate  life. 

Selenus  accordingly  brought  his  nephews 
with  him,  to  associate  them  with  himself  in 
the  deeds  of  cruelty  that  were  meditated,  and 


62      XTbe  IDirgln  Saints  anb  /iDatt^rs 

to  awe  them  into  dread  of  transgressing    the 
will  and  command  of  the  emperor. 

Primus  was  a  cousin  on  his  mother's  side 
to  Lysimachus,  and  he  shared  with  him  disgust 
at  the  cruelty  of  their  uncle,  and  they  did  what 
was  in  their  power — they  sent  timely  warning 
to  the  Christians  to  escape  from  a  city  that  was 
about  to  be  visited. 

As  soon  as  the  bishop  and  clergy  of  Sibapte 
heard  that  the  governor  purposed  coming  to 
the  place,  they  dispersed  and  secreted  them- 
selves. The  sisters  of  the  convent  in  great 
agitation  waited  on  the  abbess,  and  entreated 
her  to  allow  them  to  escape  for  their  lives. 

Bryene  bade  them  entertain  no  alarm,  as 
the  danger  only  threatened,  and  was  not  at 
their  doors :  such  humble,  insignificant  folk 
as  they  might  expect  to  be  overlooked.  At 
the  same  time  she  was  really  distracted  with 
anxiety,  as  Febronia  was  not  strong  enough  to 
be  removed,  and  she  could  not  leave  her. 

The  sisters  took  counsel  together,  and 
electing  one  named  Aetheria  as  their  spokes- 
woman, made  a  second  remonstrance,  and 
complained,    "  We    know   what    is    your    real 


JFebronta  ot  Stbapte  63 

reason  for  retaining  us:  it  is  that  you  are 
solicitous  about  Febronia  ;  but  the  bishop  and 
clergy  are  in  hiding.  Do  try  to  carry  Febronia 
away,  and  suffer  us  to  leave." 

Febronia,  however,  could  not  be  moved,  so 
Bryene  dismissed  the  nuns,  and  they  decamped 
forthwith  ;  two  alone  remained — Thomais,  the 
writer  of  the  history,  and  Procla,  who  acted 
as  nurse  to  the  sick  girl,  and  who  could  not 
find  the  heart  to  tear  herself  away. 

Almost  immediately  after  the  sisters  had 
fled,  news  reached  those  who  remained  that 
the  governor  had  arrived.  Febronia  heard  her 
aunt  sobbing.  She  looked  at  Thomais,  and 
asked,  "  I  pray  you,  dear  mother,  what  is  the 
great  mistress "  (for  this  was  the  title  of  the 
abbess)   "  crying  so  bitterly  about  ?  " 

*'  My  child,"  answered  the  old  nun,  "  she 
is  sore  at  heart  about  you.  We  are  old  and 
ugly,  and  all  that  can  chance  to  us  is  death  ; 
but  you  are  young  and  fair,  and  there  are 
things  we  fear  for  you  of  which  you  know 
nothing.  We  need  not  say  more  to  you, 
dearest  child,  than  bid  you  be  very  cautious 
how    you    accept    any   offers  made  to   you   by 


64      Uhc  VivQin  Saints  anb  /iftart^rs 

the  governor,  however  innocent  they  may 
appear.  A  danger  lurks  behind  them  of  which 
you  have  no  conception.'* 

The  night  passed  in  anxious  conversation 
and  in  mutual  encouragement.  Next  morning 
Selenus  sent  soldiers  to  the  convent,  who  broke 
open  the  door,  and  would  have  cut  down 
Bryene,  had  not  Febronia  started  from  her 
pallet,  and  casting  herself  at  their  feet,  implored 
them  to  kill  her  rather  than  her  old  aunt. 

Primus  arrived  at  this  juncture,  rebuked 
the  soldiers  for  their  violence,  and  bade  them 
go  outside  the  house.  Then,  turning  to 
Bryene,  he  asked  somewhat  impatiently  why 
she  had  not  taken  advantage  of  the  warning 
that  had  been  sent,  and  escaped. 

"  Even  now,"  said  he,  "  I  will  make  shift 
to  help  you.  I  will  withdraw  the  soldiers, 
and  do  you  escape  by  the  back  of  the  house." 

Primus  then  withdrew,  and  it  is  possible 
that  the  three  nuns  and  Febronia  might  have 
escaped,  but  that  Selenus,  suspicious  of  his 
nephew,  sent  back  the  soldiers  with  peremptory 
orders  to  secure  Febronia  and  bring  her  before 
him.     This  was    done,    and   she   and  the  rest 


jfebtonla  of  Slbapte  65 

were  thrown  for  the  night  into  the  common 
prison. 

Next  day  Selenus  ascended  the  tribunal, 
and  was  accompanied  by  his  nephews  Primus 
and  Lysimachus,  whom  he  forced  to  attend. 

Bryene  and  Thomais  appeared,  each  holding 
a  hand  of  the  sick  girl  and  sustaining  her. 
They  begged  to  be  tried  and  condemned  with 
her. 

"  They  are  a  pair  of  old  hags,"  said  Selenus. 
"  Dismiss  them." 

Then  they  were  separated  from  their  charge. 

'^Mother,"  said  Febronia,  clinging  to  and 
kissing  Bryene,  "  I  trust  in  God  that,  as  I  have 
been  ever  obedient  to  thee  in  the  monastery, 
so  I  may  be  faithful  to  what  thou  hast 
exhorted  me  to  do,  faithful  here  openly  before 
all  the  people.  Go  then — do  not  stay  here, 
but  pray  for  me,  but  before  leaving  give  me 
thy  benediction." 

Then  she  slid  to  her  knees,  and  Bryene, 
stretching  her  hands  to  heaven,  cried  :  **  Lord 
Jesus  Christ,  who  didst  appear  to  Thy  hand- 
maid Thecla,  in  her  agony,  to  comfort  her, 
stand  by  Thy  lowly  one  in  her  great  contest." 

5 


66      Zbc  IDirgtn  Saints  anb  /IDattyrs 

So  saying,  she  fell  on  the  neck  of  Febronia, 
and  they  kissed  and  wept  and  clung  to  each 
other  till  parted  by  the  soldiers. 

Then,  unable  to  bear  the  sight  of  what  she 
knew  must  follow,  Bryene  retired  to  the 
deserted  convent,  and  begged  that  word  might 
be  sent  her  as  to  how  all  ended. 

In  the  meantime,  Hiera  had  heard  of  the 
arrest  of  Febronia,  and  wild  with  grief  she 
rushed  to  the  place  of  judgment.  She  found 
the  court  crammed  with  people,  mostly  women, 
agitated,  indignant,  and  murmuring.  There 
was  a  space  clear  before  the  tribunal,  where 
stood  the  accused,  and  at  one  side  were  various 
instruments  of  torture,  and  a  stake  driven 
into  the  ground  furnished  with  rings  and 
ropes.  On  the  judgment  seat  were  Selenus, 
with  his  nephews   by  him. 

Selenus  turned  to  Lysimachus,  and  said, 
*'  Do  you  open  the  examination." 

The  young  man,  struggling  with  his  emotion, 
began — "  Tell  me,  young  maiden,  what  is 
thy  condition  ? " 

*'  I  am  a  servant,**  answered  Febronia. 

^'  Whose  servant  ?  "  asked  Lysimachus. 


ffebronta  of  Sibapte  e^ 

*'  I  am  the  servant  of  Christ." 
"And  tell  me  thy  name,  I  pray  thee." 
"I     am     a     humble    Christian,"     answered 
Febronia. 

"  May  I  ask  thy  name,  maiden  ?  " 
"  The  good  mother  always  calls  me  Febronia." 
Then  Selenus  broke  in  :  ''  We  shall  never 
have  done  if  you  push  along  in  this  fashion. 
To  the  point  at  once.  Febronia,  I  vow  by  the 
gods  that  I  have  no  desire  to  hurt  thee.  Here 
is  a  gallant  young  gentleman,  my  nephew  ; 
take  him  as  thy  husband,  and  forget  the  silly 
stuff,  thy  religion.  I  had  other  views  for 
the  boy,  but  that  matters  not  ;  never  have 
I  seen  a  sweeter  face  than  thine,  and  I  am 
content  to  accept  thee  as  my  niece.  I  am  a 
man  of  few  words  :  accept  my  offer,  and  all 
is  well  ;  or  by  the  living  gods  I  will  make 
thee  rue  the  refusal." 

Febronia  replied  calmly,  "  I  have  a  heavenly 
Bridegroom,  eternal ;  with  celestial  glory  as 
His  dower." 

Selenus  burst  forth  with,  "  Soldiers,  strip  the 
wench."  He  was  obeyed ;  they  allowed  her 
to  wear  only  a  tattered  cloak  over  her  shoulders. 


68      xrbe  IDltQtn  Saints  an^  /ll>art^rs 

Calm,  without  a  sign  of  being  discomposed, 
Febronia  bore  the  outrage. 

"  How  now,  you  impudent  hussy  ?  "  scoffed 
Selenus  ;  "  where  is  your  maiden  modesty  ?  I 
saw  no  struggles,  no  blushes.'' 

"  God  Almighty  knows,  judge,  that  till  this 
day  I  have  never  seen  the  face  of  man,  for  I 
was  only  two  years  old  when  I  was  taken  as 
a  little  baby  to  my  aunt,  and  the  rest  of  my 
life  I  have  spent  there  among  the  good  sisters. 
Do  I  seem  lost  to  shame  ?  Nay,  I  have  been 
assured  that  wrestlers  strip  in  the  games  when 
they  strive  for  victory.     I  fear  thee  not." 

"  Stretch  her,  face  downwards,  over  a  slow 
fire.  Bind  her  hands  and  feet  to  four  stakes, 
and  so — scourge  her." 

He  was  obeyed,  and  the  crimson  blood 
trickled  over  her  white  skin  at  every  stroke  of 
the  lash,  and  hissed  in  the  glowing  charcoal. 

The  multitude,  looking  on,  could  not  bear 
the  sight,  and  with  one  voice  entreated  that 
she  might  be  removed  and  dismissed. 

But  the  shouts  only  made  Selenus  more 
angry,  and  he  ordered  the  executioners  to 
redouble     the     blows.       Thomais,     unable     to 


jfebronta  ot  Stbapte  69 

endure  the  sight,  fainted  at  the  feet  of  Hiera, 
who  uttered  a  cry  of  "  Oh,  Febronia,  my  sister  ! 
Thomais  is  dying." 

The  poor  sufferer  turned  her  head,  and 
asked  the  executioner  to  throw  water  over 
the  face  of  the  fainting  woman,  and  begged 
to  be  allowed  to  say  a  word  to  Hiera. 

But  the  judge  interposed  to  forbid  this 
indulgence,  and  ordered  Febronia  to  be  untied 
and  placed  on  the  rack. 

This  was  sometimes  called  "  the  little  horse." 
It  had  four  legs  united  by  planks.  At  each 
end  was  a  crank.  The  sufferer  was  attached 
by  the  feet  and  hands  at  ankles  and  wrists  to 
cords  that  passed  over  rollers  between  the 
planks.  She  thus  hung  below  and  between 
the  two  pieces  of  wood.  At  a  signal  from 
the  magistrate,  the  executioners  turned  the 
cranks,  and  these  drew  the  feet  and  hands 
tighter  towards  the  rollers,  and  strained  them, 
so  that  if  this  were  persisted  in,  the  limbs 
were  pulled  out  of  joint. 

**Well,  girl,"  asked  Selenus,  ''how  do  you 
like  your  first  taste  of  torture  ?  " 

"Learn  from   the  manner  in  which  I  have 


70      Ube  IDtrgtn  Saints  anb  /IDartprs 

borne    it,    that    my    resolution    is  unalterable," 
answered  Febronia. 

On  the  rack  her  sides  were  torn  with  iron 
combs.  She  prayed  incessantly  :  '*  O  Lord, 
make  haste  to  help  me.  Leave  me  not,  neither 
forsake  me  in  my  hour  of  pain  !  " 

"  Cut  out  her  tongue,"  ordered  the  judge. 
Febronia  was  detached  from  the  rack  and 
tied  to  the  post  in  the  centre  of  the  place. 
But  when  the  multitude  saw  what  the  exe- 
cutioner was  about  to  do,  the  excitement  and 
indignation  became  so  menacing,  that  the  judge 
thought  it  prudent  to  countermand  the  order. 
Instead  of  which,  however,  he  bade  the  surgeon 
in  attendance  extract  her  teeth.  When  he  had 
drawn  seventeen,  Selenus  bade  him  desist. 
"  Cut  off  her  breasts." 

This  atrocious  order  caused  a  renewed  up- 
roar. The  physician  hesitated.  But  Selenus 
was  fairly  roused.  "  Coward,  go  on  !  Cut  !  " 
he  shouted,  and  the  surgeon,  with  a  sweep  of 
the  razor,  sliced  off  her  right  breast. 

Febronia  uttered  a  cry  as  she  felt  the  steel 
gash  her  :  "  My  Lord  !  my  God !  see  what  I 
suffer,  and   receive  my  soul  into  Thy  hands." 


ffebronla  of  Sibapte  71 

These  were  the  last  words  she  spoke. 

"  Cut  off  the  other  breast,  and  put  fire  to 
the  wound,"  said  Selenus. 

He  was  obeyed.  The  mob  swayed  and 
quivered  with  indignation  ;  women  wept  and 
fainted.  Then  with  a  roar  broke  forth  the 
execration,  "  Cursed  be  Diocletian  and  all  his 
gods !  " 

Thereupon  Hiera  sent  a  girl  running  to  the 
convent  to  Bryene  to  tell  her  all.  And  the 
old  abbess  flung  herself  on  the  ground  sobbing, 
*'  Bra,  bra,  bra  !  Febronia,  my  child  !  "  Then 
raising  her  arms  and  straining  her  eyes  to 
heaven,  she  cried,  "  Lord,  regard  Thy  humble 
handmaiden,  Febronia,  and  may  my  aged 
eyes  see  the  battle  fought  out,  and  my  dear 
child  numbered  with  the  martyrs." 

In  the  meantime  Selenus  had  ordered  the 
cords  to  be  removed  which  bound  Febronia 
to  the  stake.  Then  she  dropped  in  a  heap 
on  the  sand,  her  long  hair  flowing  over  and 
clothing  her  mangled  body. 

Primus  said  under  his  breath  to  his  cousin, 
"The  poor  girl  is  dead." 

"  She  died  to  bring  light  and  conviction  to 


72      tibe  VivQin  Saints  an^  /IDart^rs 

many  hearts — perhaps  to  mine,"  answered 
Lysimachus  aloud,  that  his  uncle  might  hear. 
"  Would  that  it  had  been  in  my  power  to 
have  saved  her  !  Now  let  her  finish  her  conflict 
and  enter  into  her  rest." 

Then  Hiera,  bursting  into  the  arena,  stood 
wild  with  indignation  and  anguish  before  the 
judge,  and  shrieked,  as  she  shook  her  hands  at 
him, — *'  O  monster  of  cruelty !  shame  on  thee, 
shame  !  Thou,  born  of  a  woman,  hast  for- 
gotten the  obligation  to  honour  womanhood, 
and  hast  insulted  and  outraged  thy  mother  in 
the  person  of  this  poor  girl.  God,  the  Judge 
above  judges,  will  make  a  swift  work  with 
thee,  and  cut  it  short,  and  root  thee  out  of 
the  land  of  the  living." 

Selenus,  stung  with  these  words,  exasperated 
at  the  resentment  of  the  mob,  and  finding 
that  he  had  fairly  roused  his  nephews  into 
defiance  of  his  authority,  shouted  his  orders 
to  have  the  widow  put  on  the  rack. 

But  at  this  point  some  of  the  town  authori- 
ties interfered,  and  warned  the  judge  that  he 
was  proceeding  to  dangerous  lengths.  Hiera 
was  well  connected,  popular  ;  and  if  she  were 


ffebronta  of  Stbapte  73 

tortured,  a  riot  was  certain  to  ensue.  "  Half 
the  town  will  rush  here  and  insist  on  being 
tried  and  tortured.  They  will  all  confess 
Christ." 

Selenus  reluctantly  gave  orders  for  the 
release  of  Hiera,  and  directed  the  current 
of  his  rage  on  Febronia,  now  unconscious. 
He  ordered  first  her  hands,  then  her  feet, 
and  finally  her  head  to  be  struck  off;  and 
when  all  was  finished,  rose  from  his  seat, 
turned  to  Lysimachus,  and  saw  that  his  face 
was  bathed  in  tears.  He  hastily  withdrew  to 
supper,  angry  with  himself,  his  nephews,  and 
the  mob. 

Lysimachus  and  Primus  descended  to  the 
arena,  and  standing  by  the  mutilated  body, 
vowed  to  renounce  the  gods  of  Diocletian 
and  to  worship  the  God  of  Febronia.  Then 
the  young  men  gave  orders  for  the  removal 
of  the  mangled  remains  to  the  house  of 
Bryene. 

Almost  the  whole  city  crowded  to  see  the 
body  of  the  young  girl  who  had  'suffered  so 
heroically. 

That    night    Lysimachus   could    not   eat   or 


74      Ubc  ViVQin  Saints  anD  /Iftartigrs 

speak    at   supper,    and   Selenus   forced   himself 
to  riotous  mirth  and  drunk  hard. 

We  cannot  quite  trust  what  follows.  It 
was  too  tempting  to  a  copyist  to  allow  the 
governor  to  go  away  unchastised.  Perhaps 
it  is  true  that  in  a  •  drunken  and  angry  fit 
Selenus,  pacing  the  room  storming,  slipped  on 
the  polished  pavement,  and  in  falling  hit  his 
head  against  a  pillar — with  the  result  that 
he  never  spoke  again,  having  congestion  of 
the  brain,  and  died  next  day.  It  is  quite 
possible  that  this  may  be  true.  If  it  were  an 
interpolation  by  a  copyist,  he  would  have 
killed  him  by  fire  falHng  from  heaven  and 
consuming  him — that  was  the  approved  way 
with  the  re-writers  of  the  Acts  of  Martyrs. 

When  Constantine  became  Emperor  both 
the  young  men  were  baptised,  retired  into 
solitude  and  embraced  the  monastic  life. 

The  name  of  Febronia  is  in  the  Greek, 
Coptic  and  Abyssinian  Kalendars.  The  simple 
and  apparently  quite  trustworthy  account  of 
her  death  was  by  Thomais,  the  nun  who  saw 
her  die,  and  had  known  her  all  her  short  life. 


V 

THE    DAUGHTER    OF    CONSTJNTINE 


75 


THE   DAUGHTER    OF   CONSTANTINE. 


V 

THE   T^AUGUrER    OF   CONSTJNriNE 

CONSTANTIA,  whose  name  does  not 
appear  in  the  Roman  Kalendar,  but  which 
has  found  its  way  into  several  unauthorised 
lists  of  the  Saints,  is  chiefly  known  through 
the  Acts  of  S.  Agnes.  Little  or  nothing  reliable 
is  recorded  concerning  her,  and  her  story  would 
not  have  been  included  in  this  collection,  were 
it  not  for  two  circumstances — one,  that  two  of 
the  most  interesting  monuments  of  Old  Rome 
are  associated  with  her  name,  one  directly,  the 
other  indirectly ;  and  next,  that  a  caution,  very 
desirable  of  being  exercised,  may  be  learned 
from  a  consideration  of  her  story — not  to  cast 
over  as  utterly  fabulous  and  worthless  the 
legends  that  come  down  to  us  of  the  Saints 
of  early  times,  because  they  are  stuffed  with 
unhistorical  and  ridiculous  incidents  and  marvels. 

77 


78      XTbe  IDirotn  Saints  anb  /IDart^rs 

Let  us  now  see  very  briefly  what  the  legend  is 
concerning  Constantia. 

She  was  the  daughter  of  Constantine  the 
Great,  and  was  afflicted  with  a  distressing 
disease,  supposed  at  the  time  to  be  leprosy, 
but  which  was  in  all  probability  scrofula. 

The  Roman  general,  Gallicanus,  having  been 
in  favour  with  the  Emperor,  and  having  lost 
his  wife,  was  offered  Constantia  in  marriage 
by  his  master — not  a  particularly  inviting  pro- 
posal^ and  Gallicanus  did  not,  possibly,  regret 
that  he  was  called  away  by  an  inroad  of  the 
barbarians  into  Thrace,  to  defend  the  Roman 
frontiers  against  them.  Before  engaging  in 
battle  he  made  a  vow,  in  the  event  of  success, 
that  he  would  believe  in  Christ  and  be  baptised. 
He  succeeded  in  repulsing  the  enemy,  and 
returned  to  Rome  to  find  that  Constantia  had 
been  healed  of  her  disorder  at  the  tomb  of 
S.  Agnes,  and  that  she  had  persuaded  his  three 
daughters,  Augusta,  Attica,  and  Artemia,  to 
live  with  her,  as  consecrated  virgins,  near 
the  shrine  of  the  Virgin  Martyr,  to  whose 
intercession  she  attributed  her  cure. 

Constantia  had  two  chamberlains,  John   and 


XTbe  Daugbter  of  Constanttne        79 

Paul,  to  whom,  at  her  death,  she  bequeathed 
much  of  her  possessions. 

When  Julian  the  Apostate  assumed  the 
purple,  in  361,  he  did  not  openly  persecute 
the  Church,  but  he  turned  out  of  their  situations 
such  officers  of  the  court  and  army  as  refused 
to  renounce  Christ.  John  and  Paul  he  par- 
ticularly disliked,  partly  because  they  were 
zealous  Christians,  and  had  had  much  to  do 
with  the  conversion  of  Gallicanus,  but  also 
because  they  had  obtained  by  bequest  so  much 
of  Constantia's  estate,  which  he  desired  to  draw 
into  the  imperial  treasury.  He  sent  word  that 
they  were  to  be  deprived  of  their  offices,  and 
were  to  be  privately  put  to  death  in  their 
own  house. 

Accordingly,  when  they  had  retired  to  their 
residence  on  the  Ccelian  Hill,  the  ministers  of 
Julian  pursued  them,  dismissed  the  servants, 
and  secretly  conveyed  them  down  into  the 
cellar  of  their  palace,  and  there  killed  and 
buried  them. 

Three  persons,  however,  knew  of  what 
was  going  on — Crispinus,  Crispinianus,  and 
Benedicta— and,  to  prevent  the  matter  getting 


8o      ^be  IDitGtn  Saints  anb  fJX^nvt^ts 

bruited  about,  these  the  soldiers  also  put  to 
death. 

Gallicanus  was  living  at  Ostia,  and  he  was 
ordered  into  exile.  He  withdrew  to  Alex- 
andria, where  the  chief  magistrate,  Baucianus, 
summoned  him  before  his  tribunal,  required 
him  to  do  sacrifice  to  idols,  and,  because  he 
refused,  had  him  decapitated.  He  has  found  a 
place  in  the  Roman  Martyrology  on  June  25th. 

Now  the  whole  series  of  incidents  is  full  of 
difficulties.  The  name  of  Gallicanus  was  not 
uncommon.  Vulcatius  Gallicanus  was  prefect 
of  Rome  in  317,  and  Ovius  Gallicanus  was 
Consul  in  330,  but  of  either  of  them  being 
engaged  against  the  barbarians  in  Thrace  there 
is  no  historical  evidence. 

It  is  also  incredible  that  the  Gallicanus  of 
the  legend  should  have  been  publicly  tried  as  a 
Christian  and  condemned  as  such  under  Julian. 

The  Emperor  Constantine  had  a  daughter, 
Constantia,  we  know  from  profane  history,  who 
was  married  to  Hannibalianus — a  thoroughly 
unprincipled  woman,  in  fact,  if  we  may  trust 
the  highly  coloured  picture  drawn  of  her  by 
Ammianus   Marcellinus.     She  was  a  demon  in 


Ubc  Daugbter  ot  Constanttne        sr 

human  form,  a  female  fury  ever  thirsting  for 
blood.  But  though  generally  called  Constantia, 
her  correct  name  was  Flavia  Julia  Constantina. 

Of  the  Constantia  of  the  legend  there  is  no 
mention  by  the  historical  writers  of  the  time  ; 
but  this  is  not  remarkable  if  she  were,  as  is 
represented  in  the  story,  a  woman  who  took  no 
part  in  public  life,  but  lived  in  retirement, 
partly  because  of  her  disorder,  and  then  because 
she  had  embraced  the  religious  life. 

A  further  difficulty  arises  in  the  account  of 
the  martyrdom  of  SS.  John  and  Paul,  her 
chamberlains.  The  Acts  represent  them  as 
subjected  to  interrogation  by  Julian  himself  in 
Rome,  whereas  it  is  quite  certain  that  after  he 
became  Emperor  he  did  not  set  foot  in  Italy. 

It  will  be  seen,  therefore,  that  there  is  here 
every  reason  for  repudiating  the  whole  story  as 
fabulous,  and  some  would  go  so  far  as  to  say 
that  Constantia,  the  virgin  daughter  of  Con- 
stantine,  Gallicanus,  John  and  Paul  were  all 
of  them  mythical  characters,  creatures  of  the 
imagination.  But  there  are  certain  very  good 
and  weighty  reasons  on  the  other  side  for 
inducing  an  arrest  of  judgment. 

6 


82      Ubc  Dirgln  Saints  an^  /II>artsr0 

In  the  first  place,  close  to  the  basilica  and 
catacomb  of  S.  Agnese  is  a  very  interesting  and 
precious  circular  church,  erected  by  Constantine 
the  Great,  at  the  request  of  his  daughter 
Constantia,  as  a  thankofFering  for  her  recovery 
from  the  distressing  disease  which  had  dis- 
figured her  and  made  life  a  burden  to  her. 
This  church  is,  perhaps,  the  most  remarkable 
specimen  we  have  existing  of  ecclesiastical 
architecture  of  the  age  of  Constantine.  It  is 
quite  untouched,  and  is  rich  with  frescoes  of 
the  period. 

But  a  still  more  remarkable  monument  is 
one  quite  recently  disinterred.  It  is  the  house 
of  the  martyrs  John  and  Paul,  which  has 
existed  for  centuries  buried  under  the  founda- 
tions of  the  great  church  that  bears  their  names 
on  the  Ccelian  Hill,  a  church  erected  by  the 
one  English  Pope,  Nicolas  Breakespeare,  in 
1 158.  The  discovery  of  the  house  is  itself 
a  romance.  What  is  known  of  its  early  history 
is  this  :  Julian  the  Apostate  died  in  363.  The 
death  of  John  and  Paul  had  taken  place  in 
362.  Julian  was  followed  by  Jovian,  who  died 
in  364,  and  was  succeeded  by  Valentinian. 


XTbe  Daugbter  ot  Constanttne        83 

Now,  directly  Julian  was  no  more,  Byzantius, 
a  senator  and  a  Christian,  interested  himself 
in  the  matter.  The  recent  martyrdom  was  in 
all  mouths,  and  it  was  known  that  the  bodies 
lay  in  the  cellar  of  the  house.  Byzantius  had 
the  bodies  lifted  and  placed  in  a  white  alabaster 
or  marble  box,  and  converted  the  upper  storey 
of  the  house  into  an  oratory. 

The  son  of  Byzantius  was  Pammachius,  the 
friend  and  correspondent  of  S.  Jerome.  He 
did  something  also.  He  erected  a  handsome 
church  over  the  tomb  of  the  saints,  and  this 
was  completed  in  410,  forty-eight  years  after 
their  martyrdom. 

There  had,  however,  been  no  break  in  the 
tradition,  for  Byzantius  had  made  his  oratory 
only  two  or  three  years  later  than  their 
martyrdom. 

The  basilica  erected  by  Pammachius  con- 
sisted of  an  oblong  nave,  with  side  aisles  and 
an  apse  to  the  west.  To  the  east  end  was  a 
quadrangle,  surrounded  by  a  cloister,  and  with 
a  water-tank  in  the  middle.  By  means  of  a 
flight  of  steps  visitors  were  enabled  to  descend 
to    the    ''  Confession,"   or    place    whence   they 


84      trbe  IDirgin  Saints  anb  /Iftartprs 

could  look  down  on  the  alabaster  box  contain- 
ing the  relics  of  the  martyrs  in  the  cellar  ;  and 
in  the  angles  of  the  wall  below,  a  triangular 
white  marble  table  was  placed,  hollowed  out 
in  the  middle  for  oil,  in  which  a  wick  burned 
to  throw  light  on  the  tomb. 

Hard  by,  in  later  years,  was  the  family 
mansion  of  S.  Gregory  the  Great,  who  sent 
Augustine  and  his  little  band,  in  597,  to 
convert  the  Anglo-Saxons  of  Kent.  Now, 
Gregory  knew  well  this  church  of  SS.  John 
and  Paul,  and  often  prayed  there.  Somewhere 
about  603  he  sent  a  present  to  Queen  Theode- 
linda,  the  Bavarian  Princess,  who  had  married 
Agilulph,  the  Lombard,  and  among  other  things 
some  of  the  oil  from  this  very  lamp.  This 
identical  vial  of  oil  is  preserved  among  the 
treasures  of  Monza,  along  with  some  little  gold 
hens  and  chickens  presented  by  Theodelinda. 

Now,  a  few  years  ago.  Padre  Germano,  a 
Passionist  father  of  the  monastery  attached  to 
the  church,  in  studying  the  blank  south  wall 
of  the  church  that  rises  out  of  the  little  lane, 
the  Clivus  Scauri,  by  which  one  mounts  to 
reach  the  entrance  of  the  church,  observed  that 


trbe  Dauabter  ot  Constantine        85 

it  consisted  of  a  whole  series  of  blocked-up 
arches  and  windows  above  them.  In  a  word,  it 
looked  like  a  three-storey  shop-front,  or  factory 
of  brick,  with  the  openings  filled  in.  What 
could  be  the  meaning  of  this  ?  Such  an  arrange- 
ment was  not  suitable  to  the  basilica  of  Pam- 
machius,  and  had  certainly  no  significance  for 
the  Church  of  Adrian  I. 

Then,  all  at  once,  it  flashed  on  him  what  it 
really  was :  it  was  nothing  more  nor  less  than 
the  street-front  of  the  palace  of  John  and  Paul, 
which  had  been  solidly  built,  and  consequently 
had  been  utilised  first  by  Pammachius  and  then 
by  Adrian  I.  Now  the  church  is  built  at  the 
top  of  a  steep  slope,  and  the  level  of  the  floor 
of  the  church  is  far  above  the  arches.  It  next 
occurred  to  the  Padre  :  Is  it  not  possible  that 
the  old  house  of  the  martyrs  may  be  beneath 
the  floor  of  this  church  ? 

He  obtained  leave  to  search.  He  went 
round  to  persons  interested  in  Christian  anti- 
quities, and  begged  a  little  money,  and  so  was 
enabled  to  begin  his  excavations  ;  and,  lo  !  he 
discovered  that  when  in  410  Pammachius  had 
built   his  basilica   he   had    filled  in   the  lower 


86      Ubc  VivQin  Saints  anb  /IDart^rs 

portion  of  the  house,  all  the  most  important 
rooms  and  the  cellars,  with  earth  and  rubbish, 
and  had  raised  his  church  above  it  all,  knocking 
away  the  floors  of  the  upper  storeys  and  block- 
ing up  what  had  been  the  bedroom  windows. 
The  writer  of  this  account  was  in  Rome  during 
two  winters  when  the  Padre  was  engaged  on 
the  excavations,  and  was  frequently  there,  and 
saw  the  results  as  they  were  reached.  And 
these  results  were  :  first,  that  a  Christian  man- 
sion of  the  fourth  century  was  disinterred,  the 
only  one  of  the  kind  known  to  exist ;  and 
more,  the  tomb  of  the  saints  into  which  Byzan- 
tius  had  put  the  bodies  was  found  ;  also  the 
very  lamp-table  from  which  S.  Gregory  took  the 
oil  for  sending  to  Theodelinda,  and  the  early 
altar  set  up  by  Byzantius  in  one  of  the  halls 
of  the  house  which  he  had  converted  into  an 
oratory.  Nay,  more, — paintings  were  found, 
whether  of  the  date  of  Byzantius  or  of  his  son 
Pammachius  is  uncertain — one  representing  the 
soldiers  killing  Crispinus,  Crispinianus,  and 
Benedicta,  and  another  showing  Constantia, 
with  her  two  chamberlains  and  other  attendants. 
There  were  also  figures  which  may  be  Byzan- 


xrbe  Baugbtet  of  Constanttne        87 

tius  and  his  wife,  or  Pammachius  and  his, 
bringing  gifts  to  the  tomb  of  the  martyrs. 
The  cellar  was  discovered  with  the  old  wine- 
bottles,  some  marked  with  the  sacred  sign  ; 
and  the  frescoes  in  the  reception-room  were 
Christian  :  a  woman  lifting  up  holy  hands  in 
prayer  ;  Moses,  with  the  roll  of  the  Law  ;  the 
good  sheep  and  the  bad  one,  with  the  Milk 
of  the  Word,  and  so  on. 

Now,  all  this  shows  conclusively  that  there 
really  were  such  martyrs  as  John  and  Paul,  and 
that  although  their  story  has  been  embroidered, 
there  is  a  substratum  of  truth  in  it. 

What  is  probably  the  basis  of  the  whole  story 
is  this  :  that  Constantia,  an  infirm,  scrofulous 
daughter  of  Constantine,  residing  in  Rome, 
believing  herself  to  have  received  some  allevia- 
tion in  her  condition  by  praying  at  the  tomb 
of  S.  Agnes,  not  only  induced  her  father  to 
build  a  basilica  above  that  tomb,  but  also  the 
remarkable  Church  of  St.  Constanza,  which  is 
hard  by.  That  she  had  chamberlains  named 
John  and  Paul,  devout  Christians,  is  also  more 
than  probable,  as  also  that  she  bequeathed  to 
them   a   large   portion    of  her  fortune.      The 


88      TLhc  Diratn  Saints  anb  /iDatti^ts 

fact  of  their  being  zealous  Christians,  and 
exerting  themselves  vigorously  to  advance  the 
Faith,  that  among  other  converts  they  made 
was  Ovius  Gallicanus,  who  had  been  Consul  in 
330,  is  also  probable.  That  they  were  secretly 
put  to  death  in  their  own  mansion  on  the 
Coelian  Hill,  by  the  orders  of  Julian,  and 
buried  in  their  cellar,  is  quite  certain.  The 
chain  of  evidence  is  unbroken. 

That  Con  Stan  tia  had  as  her  friends  and 
fellows  in  her  retired  devout  life  three  of  the 
daughters  of  the  ex-Consul,  is  not  at  all 
unlikely.  That  he  was  banished  to  Alexandria 
by  Julian  may  be  admitted.  But  this  is  the 
utmost.  The  recomposer  of  the  Acts  tried  to 
spice  the  story  to  suit  the  taste  of  his  times, 
and  in  doing  so  fell  into  extravagances, 
anachronisms,  and  absurdities. 

Constantia  may  have  felt  grateful  for  the 
disorder  that  kept  her  out  of  the  current  of 
public  life,  and  from  the  intrigues  of  the  palace. 

Her  father,  with  all  his  good  qualities,  was  a 
violent  man  ;  and  his  adoption  of  Christianity 
was  due  to  political  shrewdness  rather  than 
to  conviction. 


Uhc  Dauabter  of  Constanttne        89 

In  324  Crispus,  her  accomplished  brother, 
whose  virtues  and  glory  had  made  him  a 
favourite  with  the  people,  was  accused  of 
conspiring  against  his  father  by  his  stepmother 
Fausta,  who  desired  to  clear  him  out  of  the 
way  to  make  room  for  her  own  son  Constantius. 
Another  involved  in  the  same  charge  was 
Licinius,  a  son  of  the  sister  of  Constantine,  and 
who  was  also  a  young  man  of  good  qualities. 

Constantine  was  at  Rome  at  the  time.  He 
went  into  a  fit  of  blind  fury,  and  had  his  son 
put  to  death,  and  ordered  the  execution  of 
Licinius.  Then,  coming  to  his  senses,  and 
finding  that  he  had  acted  without  having  any 
evidence  of  the  truth  of  the  charges,  he  turned 
round  on  his  wife  Fausta,  and  ordered  her  to  be 
suffocated  in  a  vapour  bath. 

Constantine  died  in  337. 

"One  dark  shadow  from  the  great  tragedy 
of  his  life  reached  to  his  last  end,  and  beyond 
it,"  says  Dean  Stanley.  "  It  is  said  that  the 
Bishop  of  Nicomedia,  to  whom  the  Emperor's 
will  had  been  confided,  alarmed  at  its  contents, 
immediately  placed  it  for  security  in  the  dead 
man's  hand,  wrapped  in  the  vestments  of  death. 


90      Ube  IDltoln  Saints  ant)  /Il>art^t5 

There  it  lay  till  Constantius  arrived,  and  read 
his  father's  dying  bequest.  It  was  believed 
to  express  the  Emperor's  conviction  that  he 
had  been  poisoned  by  his  brothers  and  their 
children,  and  to  call  on  Constantius  to  avenge 
his  death.  That  bequest  was  obeyed  by  the 
massacre  of  six  out  of  the  surviving  princes 
of  the  imperial  family.  Two  alone  escaped. 
With  such  a  mingling  of  Hght  and  darkness  did 
Constantine  close  his  career."  ^ 

One  of  Constantia's  sisters,  Constantina,  has 
been  already  mentioned.  Her  second  husband 
was  Gallus.  "  She  was  an  incarnate  fury,"  says 
Ammianus  Marcellinus  ;  **  never  weary  of 
inflaming  the  savage  temper  of  her  husband. 
The  pair,  in  process  of  time,  becoming  skilful 
in  inflicting  sufl^ering,  hired  a  gang  of  crafty 
talebearers,  who  loaded  the  innocent  with  false 
charges,  accusing  them  of  aiming  at  the  royal 
power  or  of  practising  magic."  Those  accused 
were  all  put  to  death  and  their  goods  confiscated. 
She  died  of  fever  in  353. 

Another  sister,  Helena,  was  married  to  the 
Apostate   Julian.       Her    brother,    Constantius, 

^   "  Lectures  on  the  Eastern  Church,"  1869,  p.  218, 


XTbe  Dait^btet  of  Constanttne        91 

although  a  Christian,  was  as  ensanguined  with 
murders  as  one  of  the  old  Cassars.  Her 
brothers  Constans  and  Constantine  II.  fought 
each  other,  and  Constantine  was  slain.  Violence, 
bloodshed,  stained  the  whole  family,  except 
perhaps  Helena  and  certainly  the  blameless 
Constantia.  In  the  midst  of  such  violence  and 
crime,  it  was  indeed  something  to  disappear 
from  the  pages  of  the  profane  historian  and  to 
be  remembered  only  as  a  builder  of  churches. 

The  rotunda  near  S.  Agnese,  that  bears  Con- 
stantia's  name,  was  erected  during  her  life,  to 
serve  as  her  mausoleum,  and  in  it  she  and  her 
sister  Helena  were  laid.  She  was  laid  in  the 
beautiful  sarcophagus  of  red  porphyry  that  was 
in  the  church.  This  was  carried  off  by  Pope 
Paul  II.,  who  intended  to  convert  it  to  his  own 
use,  and  it  is  now  preserved  in  the  Vatican. 

The  vaulting  of  the  church  is  covered  with 
mosaic  arabesques  of  flowers  and  birds  referring 
to  a  vintage. 


VI 

THE    SISTER    OF    S.    BASIL 


93 


THE    SISTER    OF   S.    BASIL, 


VI. 

THE   SISTER    OF  S.    'BASIL 

IT  is  most  rare  to  be  able  to  obtain  a  glimpse 
into  the  home-life  of  the  ancients.  In  the 
first  centuries  of  our  era,  in  the  Greek  and 
Roman  world,  life  was  so  much  in  public,  that 
there  was  hardly  any  domestic  life  at  all ;  and  it 
was  only  with  Christianity  that  the  quiet,  retired 
and  sweet  home  society  constituted  itself. 

In  the  midst  of  flaunting  paganism,  the  first 
believers  were  driven  indoors,  so  to  speak ; 
they  were  precluded  from  much  of  the  amuse- 
ment that  went  to  fill  up  the  time  of  the 
heathen.  They  could  not  sit  on  the  benches 
of  the  amphitheatre,  nor  attend  at  the  repre- 
sentations of  the  theatre.  They  were  largely 
prevented  from  being  present  at  banquets  given 
by  friends,  as  these  began  and  ended  with 
libations    to  the    gods,    and  the  benediction  of 

95 


96      Zbc  IPtrgtn  Saints  anb  /IDart^rs 

the  deities  called  down  on  the  meats.  They 
were  precluded  from  taking  part  in  civil  life, 
by  the  oaths  and  sacrifices  associated  with 
every  official  act. 

Thinking,  feeling,  believing  differently  from 
their  fellow-citizens,  they  could  not  associate 
with  them  easily  abroad,  and  were  consequently 
driven  to  find  their  society  in  their  own  homes. 

Perhaps  it  is  only  in  the  writings  of  S.  Basil 
and  his  brother  S.  Gregory  of  Nyssa  that  we 
get  anything  like  a  look  into  the  interior  of 
a  Christian  household  in  the  fourth  century. 
It  is  therefore,  although  a  quiet  picture  of  an 
uneventful  and  unexciting  existence,  full  of 
interest  and  charm.  S.  Basil  belonged  to  a 
family  both  noble  and  wealthy,  in  Cappadocia, 
in  Asia  Minor.  His  ancestors  had  occupied 
public  positions  either  as  magistrates  or  at  the 
imperial  court. 

His  grandmother,  Macrina,  a  native  of 
Neocassarea,  in  Pontus,  had  been  brought  up 
by  S.  Gregory  the  wonder-worker  ;  and  she  and 
her  husband,  whose  name  is  not  recorded,  were 
confessors  in  the  persecution  of  Diocletian. 
They  fled  to  the  wooded  mountain  sides,  leaving 


Zbc  Sister  of  S»  Basil  97 

their  houses  and  possessions  ;  and  in  their  places 
of  retreat  subsisted  mainly  on  the  wild  deer, 
that  were  so  tame  that  they  allowed  themselves 
to  be  easily  snared.  They  remained  in  conceal- 
ment for  seven  years,  and  it  was  not  till  an 
edict  in  favour  of  the  Christians  was  promul- 
gated, on  April  30th,  311,  that  they  ventured 
to  return  to  Neocassarea. 

Macrina  died  in  Pontus  about  340.  Her 
son  Basil  inherited  the  piety  of  his  parents, 
and  he  took  to  wife  ^miha,  a  woman  of  great 
virtue,  the  daughter  of  a  man  who  had  been 
put  to  death  after  having  been  deprived  of 
his  goods  by  the  Emperor  Licinius.  She  had 
lost  her  mother  in  early  youth. 

Basil  and  Emilia  were  very  wealthy.  They 
owned  extensive  estates  in  Pontus,  Cappadocia 
and  Lesser  Armenia  ;  they  had  a  large  family, 
ten  children,  of  whom  the  eldest  was  Macrina, 
named  after  her  grandmother  ;  S.  Basil  was 
the  eldest  son,  then  came  Naucratius,  Gregory, 
afterwards  of  Nyssa,  and  Peter,  the  youngest, 
afterwards  of  Sebaste.  We  know  no  more  of 
the  four  younger  girls  than  that  they  were  well 
provided  for  in  marriage,  and  one  of  them  had 

7 


98      U\)c  \DiXQin  Saints  an^  /IDart^rs 

daughters  who  became  superiors  of  a  monastery 
in  Cassarea  under  the  direction  of  their  uncle, 
S.  Basil. 

Basil  the  elder,  the  father,  died  about  349, 
shortly  after  the  birth  of  Peter.  Emilia  was 
now  left  a  widow  with  a  large  family  to  look 
after,  but  she  was  assisted  in  everything  by 
her  eldest  daughter,  Macrina,  who  was  her 
inseparable  companion. 

When  Macrina  had  been  born  she  had  been 
confided  to  a  nurse,  but  it  was  remarked  that 
she  was  almost  always  in  her  mother's  arms. 
iEmilia  took  pains  to  form  the  mind  of  the 
little  girl,  and  give  it  a  religious  direction.  She 
taught  her  first  of  all  sentences  from  the  Book 
of  Wisdom,  then  made  her  commit  sundry 
psalms  to  memory  ;  so  that,  as  her  brother 
Gregory  wrote,  the  Psalter  became  to  her  a 
companion  day  and  night,  and  she  was  for  ever 
singing  psalms  or  reciting  them  in  her  heart. 

Macrina  was  a  good  and  patient  needle- 
woman. Not  only  was  the  house  large,  but 
the  brothers  and  sisters  needed  attention,  and 
their  clothes  keeping  in  order,  and  Emilia  and 
her  eldest  daughter  were  constantly  engaged  at 


Ubc  Sister  of  S.  Basil  99 

their  needles,  to  keep  pace  with  the  demands 
of  the  family ;  and  as  they  were  always  together, 
one  mind  was  but  the  reflexion  of  the  other. 

What  tended  to  make  Macrina  a  still,  stay- 
at-home  girl,  was  an  early  love  affair.  She 
had  been  engaged  by  her  father's  consent  to 
a  high-principled,  well-born  young  man,  and 
the  marriage  was  only  deferred  because  of 
Macrina's  youth.  But  before  this  took  place 
he  fell  ill  of  fever  and  was  carried  off  rapidly. 
After  this  Basil  thought  of  uniting  his  daughter 
to  some  other  suitable  person,  but  Macrina 
urgently  entreated  to  be  allowed  to  remain 
with  her  mother.  "  My  dear  husband,"  she 
said,  "  is  not  dead, — he  lives  with  God.  He 
has  gone  on  a  far  journey — that  is  all,  and  I 
shall  remain  faithful  to  him  whilst  he  is  away." 

Her  father  did  not  press  her — indeed,  the 
devotion  of  Macrina  to  her  mother  was  so 
tender  and  so  close  that  he  thought  neither  could 
bear  to  be  parted.  When  he  also  died,  then  the 
union  of  hearts  and  interests  became  closer. 

As  the  children  grew  up  they  dispersed, 
and  received  their  several  inheritances ;  but 
they  all    carried   away  with  them  indelibly  the 


loo     XTbe  IDtrgtn  Saints  an^  /IDart^ts 

stamp  impressed  on  their  hearts  by  their  mother 
and  eldest  sister  ;  and  in  the  end  three  of  them 
became  bishops  and  saints.  Peter,  the  youngest, 
had  been  most  in  their  hands,  but  the  favourite 
brother  was  Naucratius. 

As  soon  as  all  the  birds  were  out  of  the 
nest,  then  iEmilia  felt  that  there  was  nothing 
to  retain  her  in  the  city,  and  she  pined  to  be 
away  from  its  dusty  streets  and  noisy  market 
in  the  green,  sweet  country,  and  in  quiet  with 
God. 

Accordingly  she  and  Macrina  retired  to  a 
villa  they  possessed  on  the  banks  of  the  river 
Iris,  at  some  little  distance  from  the  town  of 
Ibora.  This  they  converted  into  a  sort  of 
monastery.  The  slaves  and  other  servants, 
if  they  chose  to  unite  in  the  same  life,  were 
given  freedom  and  accepted  on  the  footing 
of  sisters,  no  distinction  being  made  between 
the  members  of  the  little  community. 

S.  Gregory  of  Nyssa  says  of  this  society  : 
"  They  were  all  as  one  in  what  they  ate  and 
drank,  as  to  their  furniture  and  cells,  and  there 
was  no  token  that  they  belonged  originally  to 
different  ranks  in   the   world.     There   was    no 


Ube  Sister  of  S.  Basil  loi 

ruffle  of  temper  among  them,  no  petty  jealousies, 
no  suspicions,  no  spite  ....  all  their  occupation 
was  in  prayer  and  the  singing  of  psalms,  which 
went  on  night  and  day." 

Peter,  the  youngest,  who  had  been  ordained, 
lived  near  at  hand,  and  for  the  care  he  had 
received  as  a  child  returned  his  ministerial 
offices.  S.  Basil  also  for  awhile  lived  in 
retirement  not  far  oiF,  and  was  a  help  and 
comfort  to  them. 

Macrina  suffered  about  this  time  from  a 
painful  abscess  in  her  breast,  and  JEmilia  con- 
stantly urged  her  to  let  a  doctor  examine  and 
lance  it.  She  was  afraid  lest,  should  it  not 
be  opened,  it  might  break  internally.  But 
Macrina  was  so  modest  and  sensitive — perhaps 
absurdly  so — that  she  shrank  from  the  ordeal 
of  letting  a  man  treat  the  place.  At  last  the 
old  lady  insisted  ;  the  abscess  had  become  so 
hot  and  swollen  that  she  was  alarmed. 

Macrina,  struggling  against  shame,  went 
into  the  little  oratory,  and  remained  weeping 
and  praying  there  all  night,  sometimes  with 
her  face  against  the  ground  and  her  tears 
running  over  the    dust.     The    heat    and    pain 


I02     Ubc  mvQin  Saints  anb  /TOarti^rs 

in  her  breast  and  the  tension  were  so  insup- 
portable, that  she  gathered  up  some  of  the 
cool  earth  and  pressed  it  to  the  swelling,  when 
it  burst,  and  she  was  relieved ;  and  so  the 
need  for  calling  in  a  surgeon  was  overpassed. 

At  length  Emilia  died,  at  an  advanced 
age.  None  of  her  children  were  with  her 
at  the  time  except  Macrina  and  Peter  ;  how- 
ever, as  she  was  dying,  the  old  and  saintly 
woman  murmured  blessings  on  the  absent 
darlings,  and  taking  Peter  by  one  hand  and 
Macrina  by  the  other,  said,  "  Lord,  I  offer 
to  Thee  my  firstfruits  and  my  tithe.  Accept 
them,  O  Lord,  and  pour  the  floods  of  Thy 
grace  into  both  their  hearts."  They  were 
her  last  words.  She  died  in  373,  and  was 
laid  beside  her  husband  whom  she  had  loved 
so  well.  The  grief  of  Macrina  was  not  to 
be  expressed.  She  had  been  the  inseparable 
companion  of  her  mother  since  her  earliest 
infancy,  and  they  had  not  had  a  thought  or 
wish  but  what  was  in  common. 

Before  Macrina  had  recovered  from  this 
blow  she  was  called  on  to  endure  another. 
Her  favourite   brother,  Naucratius,   was  found 


Ube  Sister  ot  ©♦  Basil  103 

dead  in  the  field  along  with  his  servant 
Chrysapius,  without  it  being  known  what  had 
caused  their  death. 

Six  years  later  she  was  called  to  mourn 
the  loss  of  her  eldest  brother,  S.  Basil.  It 
was  she  who,  with  his  friend  Gregory  Nazian- 
zen,  had  been  the  means  of  turning  his  heart 
entirely  to  God.  As  a  young  man  he  had 
been  disposed  to  push  his  way  as  a  statesman. 
In  355  Basil  had  been  at  school  with  Julian, 
afterwards  Emperor,  and  an  apostate  from 
the  faith,  and  with  Gregory,  who  was  the  son 
of  the  Bishop  of  Nazianzus.  Basil  had  not 
formed  a  high  opinion  of  the  former,  but  with 
Gregory  "  it  was  one  soul  in  two  bodies."  On 
returning  to  Cassarea  after  his  father's  death, 
Basil  turned  towards  a  life  in  the  world,  and 
a  prospect  of  advancement  in  official  life 
opened  to  him.  It  was  then  that  Macrina  had 
exerted  all  her  influence  over  him,  and  gave 
him  that  final  direction  which  made  of  him 
so  glorious  a  saint  and  teacher  of  the  Church. 

And  now  Macrina  had  lost  him. 

In  the  month  of  September  or  October  in 
the    year    following    the    death    of    S.     Basil, 


I04     XTbe  IDir^tn  Saints  anb  /IDattprs 

Gregory — now  Bishop  of  Nyssa — was  present 
at  the  Council  held  at  Antioch,  and  on  leaving 
it  he  resolved  on  paying  a  visit  to  Macrina. 
He  had  not  seen  her  since  the  death  of  their 
brother  Basil,  and  he  wished  to  talk  with  her 
about  him.  The  journey  was  long,  and  the 
snows  were  already  powdering  the  lower  ranges 
of  the  lofty  mountains  he  had  to  pass. 

On  the  night  previous  to  his  arrival  on 
the  banks  of  the  Iris,  after  a  tedious  and  long 
day's  travel,  he  had  a  dream.  It  seemed  to 
him  that  he  held  relics  in  his  hands  that  emitted 
a  blaze  of  white  light. 

When  he  awoke  he  wondered  what  this 
dream  could  signify,  for  he  was  not  above 
the  superstition  of  his  age  which  attributed 
importance  to  dreams  ;  but  as  he  neared  the 
monastery  he  met  a  servant  who  told  him  that 
Macrina  was  dangerously  ill,  and  Gregory  at 
once  concluded  that  his  dream  was  a  portent 
of  her  approaching  dissolution. 

Sick  at  heart,  he  pressed  forward,  and  arrived 
at  the  villa.  Those  within  came  forth  to 
welcome  him,  except  the  sisters,  who  remained 
in    the    church,    sorrowful    at   the    prospect    of 


Ube  Sister  of  ©♦  Basil  105 

losing  their  best  friend,  yet  glad  that  she 
should  see  her  brother  before  her  death. 

Gregory  at  once  entered  the  church  and 
prayed,  and  gave  his  episcopal  benediction  to 
all.  Then  he  asked  to  be  conducted  to 
Macrina. 

We  have  an  account  of  the  last  scene  from 
his  own  pen,  and  this  shall  be  given  with 
only  a  little  condensation. 

"  A  woman  who  was  there  opened  the  door 
to  me,  and  led  me  within.  I  found  my  sister 
lying  on  the  ground,  on  a  plank  covered  with 
sackcloth  (the  Cilician  material  made  of  goat's 
hair,  much  in  use  for  blankets)  and  with  a 
pillow  of  the  same  supporting  her  head.  She 
was  very  ill,  but  when  she  saw  me,  unable  on 
account  of  her  great  weakness  to  rise  and  meet 
me,  she  lifted  herself  on  one  elbow,  placing  the 
other  hand  on  the  ground  for  her  support.  I 
ran  to  her,  and  insisted  on  laying  her  down 
again  as  she  had  been.  Then  she  lifted  her 
hands  to  Heaven  and  said,  '  I  thank  Thee,  O 
Lord  my  God,  in  that  Thou  hast  fulfilled  the 
desire  of  my  heart.' 

"  She   did  her    utmost    to    conceal    from    us 


io6     Ube  IDirgtn  Saints  anb  /IDartprs 

what  a  difficulty  she  found  in  breathing,  so  as 
not  to  increase  our  distress  ;  and  her  face  was 
bright  and  smiling,  and  she  spoke  of  such 
matters  as  she  thought  pleasing  to  us.  But 
when  we  came  to  mention  Basil,  then  my 
face  expressed  the  grief  I  was  in  at  his  loss. 
But  she,  on  the  contrary,  spoke  of  the  matter 
with  serenity  of  soul  and  elevation  of  mind, 
so  that  I  felt  myself  as  though  carried  up 
above  all  worldly  considerations  into  heavenly 
regions  with  her. 

"  Presently  she  said,  *  Brother,  you  have 
had  a  tedious  journey,  and  must  be  very 
tired :  I  pray  you  take  a  little  rest.'  And 
although  it  was  a  delight  to  me  to  listen  to 
her,  yet  I  obeyed  ;  and  I  went  forth  into 
the  garden,  where  was  a  pleasant  shady  walk. 
However,  I  was  in  such  trouble  of  mind 
that  I  could  admire  nothing,  and  I  could 
think  only  of  what  must  shortly  happen. 

"  I  suppose  she  must  have  divined  my 
thoughts,  for  she  sent  word  to  me  not  to 
fret,  as  she  hoped  speedily  to  be  better  ;  but 
she  really  meant  that  she  would  escape  from 
her  present  pains,  and  be  with  God,  for  whom 


Zhc  Sister  ot  S.  :Bastl  107 

her  soul  ever  thirsted.  I  got  up  when  I 
heard  this,  and  went  to  see  her  again.  Then, 
when  we  were  together,  she  began  to  talk 
about  old  times,  since  our  childhood,  and  all 
as  calmly  and  consequently  as  though  she 
were  reading  out  of  a  book.  She  talked  of 
the  mercies  shown  by  God  to  our  father, 
mother,  and  all  the  family. 

''  I  wanted  to  tell  her  about  my  troubles 
when  the  Emperor  Valens  banished  me  for 
the  Faith,  and  of  other  troubles  in  which  I 
had  been  involved  ;  but  she  cut  me  short 
with  '  Never  lose  sight  of  the  obligations  you 
owe  to  God.  Think  chiefly  of  the  advantages 
you  have  received  from  Him.' 

"  As  she  was  speaking  we  heard  the  song 
of  the  virgins  calling  to  vespers,  and  my 
sister  bade  me  go  to  the  church.  Thus 
passed  the  night,  and  when  day  dawned  I 
could  see  clearly  by  her  condition  that  it  would 
be  her  last,  for  the  fever  had  exhausted  her 
last  powers. 

"  My  soul  was  agitated  by  double  feehngs: 
one  was  grief,  for  nature  would  make  me  feel, 
and   I  knew  that  the  words  I  heard  were  the 


io8     Ube  VivQin  Saints  an^  /IDartrts 

last  that  would  be  uttered  by  one  very  dear 
to  me  ;  the  other  was  admiration  at  the  calm 
and  trust  with  which  she  awaited  death. 

"  The  sun  was  nigh  setting  without  her 
having  lost  the  force  of  her  mind.  Then  she 
ceased  to  speak  to  us,  but  folded  her  hands 
and  fixed  her  eyes  on  her  heavenly  Bridegroom. 
Her  little  bed  was  turned  with  the  feet  to 
the  east,  and  she  spoke  to  Him  in  a  low 
voice,  which  we  could  hardly  hear.  We  did, 
however,  collect  some  of  her  words  :  *  O  Lord, 
Thou  deliverest  us  from  the  fear  of  death  ; 
Thou  makest  the  close  of  life  the  commence- 
ment of  a  new  and  truer  life.  Thou  sufferest 
us  to  sleep  awhile,  and  then  wilt  call  us  with 
the  trumpet  at  the  end  of  time.  To  the  earth 
Thou  entrustest  the  dust  of  which  Thy  hands 
have  fashioned  us,  to  reclaim  it  and  clothe  it 
with  immortality  and  glory.  Lord,  Thou  who 
on  the  Cross  didst  pardon  the  malefactor, 
remember  me  in  Thy  kingdom.' 

''  Then  Macrina  made  the  sign  of  the  cross 
on  her  eyes,  her  mouth,  and  her  heart  ;  and, 
the  strength  of  the  fever  having  parched  her 
tongue,    we    could   no    longer  follow  her,    but 


Zbc  Sister  ot  S.  3Bastl  109 

saw  that  her  lips  continued  to  move.  She 
closed  her  eyes  ;  but  when  a  lamp  was  brought 
into  the  room  she  opened  them,  and  made  a 
sign  that  she  desired  to  recite  vespers.  But 
her  tongue  failed  her,  only  her  spirit  was  active, 
and  her  lips  and  hands  moved  as  before,  and 
we  understood  when  she  had  finished,  by  her 
again  signing  herself. 

"  Finally  she  drew  a  long,  deep  sigh,  and 
passed  away  in  prayer.  Seeing  what  had 
taken  place,  and  remembering  a  wish  she  had 
expressed  to  me,  in  our  last  conversation,  that 
I  should  render  her  the  last  offices,  I  put  out 
my  shaking  hand  to  her  face  to  close  the  eyes 
and  mouth.  But  I  did  this  only  to  fulfil  my 
promise,  for  really  there  was  no  need,  as  eyes 
and  mouth  were  closed,  so  that  she  appeared 
rather  to  be  sleeping  than  dead.  Her  hands 
lay  on  her  breast,  and  her  body  rested  modestly, 
as  that  of  a  virgin." 

When  Macrina  was  being  prepared  for 
burial,  there  was  no  other  raiment  of  hers 
found  save  her  veil,  her  mantle,  habit,  and  a 
pair  of  worn-out  shoes.  Then  Gregory  gave 
one  of  his  own  tunics  for  clothing  his  sister's 


no     Ube  IDltGtn  Saints  anb  /llbart^ts 

body,  and  over  her  was  cast  her  mother's 
black  cloak  ;  "  and/'  says  Gregory,  "  the  black- 
ness of  this  cloak  made  her  face  seem  so  much 
the  whiter,  as  though  it  shone  with  light." 

As  she  was  being  clothed,  a  widow,  who 
loved  her  and  attended  to  these  last  offices, 
untied  a  slender  string  that  was  round  her  neck, 
and  released  a  little  cross  and  an  iron  ring. 

"  Keep  the  cross,"  said  Gregory  to  the 
widow,  "  as  a  remembrance  of  her ;  and  I  shall 
ever  preserve  the  ring." 

Who  can  tell  ?  Perhaps  that  poor  little 
iron  ring  was  the  reminiscence  of  her  engage- 
ment to  the  young  man  to  whom  she  had 
long  ago  been  betrothed,  and  to  whom  she 
had  remained  ever  faithful. 


VII 

GENEVIEVE    OF    PARIS 


S.   GENEVIEVE, 


VII 

GENEVIEVE    OF  PARIS 

S.  GENEVIEVE  was  born  and  lived  in 
a  time  of  frightful  disaster,  unparalleled  in 
the  history  of  Europe.  From  the  commence- 
ment of  the  fifth  century  a  veritable  deluge 
of  diverse  nations,  driven  on  one  by  another, 
inundated  the  crumbling  empire,  and  gave  the 
signal  for  its  complete  ruin. 

The  Franks,  under  the  long-haired  Clodion, 
traversing  the  forest  of  the  Ardennes,  and 
rolling  to  the  banks  of  the  Somme,  had  seized 
on  Amiens,  Cambrai,  Tournai,  after  having 
burnt  Treves,  and  sacked  Cologne.  The 
citizens,  of  Treves,  which  had  been  the  resi- 
dence of  emperors  since  Maximian,  had  been 
slaughtered  in  the  circus  to  which  they  had 
fled.  The  amphitheatre,  which  under  Con- 
stantine  has  streamed  with  the  blood  of  the 
"3  8 


114     Ubc  DiVQin  Saints  ant>  /IDartyrs 

Barbarians,  was  now  heaped  with  the  bodies  of 
Romans.  Cologne  had  been  revelling  in  drunken 
orgy,  when  a  slave  ran  to  announce  that  the 
Franks  were  on  the  walls.  The  citizens  had 
not  the  manhood  to  rise  from  table  so  as  to 
die  standing.  Their  blood  mingled  with  the 
wine  of  their  overturned  cups.  God  chastised 
Roman  vices  with  disgrace  as  with  iron.  In 
this  fifth  century  three  societies  stood  face  to 
face — the  Old  Roman  polity,  the  Barbarian, 
and  the  Church.  Rome  went  to  pieces  under 
the  blows  of  the  Barbarians,  but  the  Barbarian 
in  turn  was  subjugated  by  Christianity. 

S.  Genevieve  was  born  at  Nanterre,  about 
seven  miles  from  Paris,  in  422  or  423.  The 
old  name  of  the  place,  Nemetdoor,  is  purely 
Celtic,  as  is  her  name,  which  is  the  same  as 
Gwenever  or  Gwenhwyvar  in  Welsh.  Her 
father  was  named  Severus,  and  her  mother 
Gerontia,  the  female  form  of  Geraint.  There 
can  be  no  doubt  whatever  that  she  was  of 
Gallic  origin,  but  Latinised,  and  a  Christian. 

One  word,  before  proceeding,  about  the 
authority  for  her  life.  This  is  a  biography, 
written  eighteen  years  after  her  death,  by  the 


(Benevteve  of  fiarie  ns 

priest  Genes,  her  spiritual  director.  He  learned 
from  the  saint  the  general  outline  of  the  inci- 
dents in  her  childhood,  and  these  he  dressed 
up  in  what  he  believed  to  be  literary  style. 

Late  in  the  Middle  Ages  it  was  said  that 
S.  Genevieve  had  kept  sheep  for  her  father, 
and  she  is  now  generally  represented  as  a 
shepherdess ;  but  there  is  no  early  authority 
for  this,  although  the  fact  is  very  probable. 
In  the  year  429  S.  Germain,  Bishop  of  Auxerre, 
and  S.  Lupus,  Bishop  of  Troyes,  at  the  entreaty 
of  the  British  Church,  commissioned  for  the 
work  by  a  Council  of  Gallican  bishops,  left 
their  dioceses  to  visit  our  island,  there  to  with- 
stand the  Pelagian  heresy,  which  was  making 
way. 

S.  Germain  was  well  qualified  to  go  to  Britain, 
as  he  was  of  Celtic  origin,  and  his  sister  was 
the  wife  of  Aldor,  brother  of  Constantine  I., 
King  of  Devon  and  Cornwall. 

On  his  way  to  the  coast  he  passed  through 
Nanterre.  The  people,  hearing  of  his  approach, 
lined  the  road,  and  with  them  were  the  children 
in  goodly  numbers. 

As   Germain   and  Lupus   advanced,  the  eye 


ii6     Zhc  IDirgtn  Saints  ant)  /IDartyrs 

of  the  former  rested  on  a  fair  little  girl  of 
seven,  whose  devout  look,  and  sweet,  innocent 
face,  arrested  him.  He  stood  still,  and  called 
her  to  him,  then  stooped  and  kissed  her  on 
the  brow,  and  asked  her  name.  He  was  told 
that  she  was  called  Genevieve.  The  pleased 
parents  now  stepped  up,  and  the  venerable 
bishop  asked,  "  Is  this  your  child  ?  " 

They  answered  in  the  affirmative. 

"Then,"  said  Germain,  ^' happy  are  ye  in 
having  a  child  so  blessed.  She  will  be  great 
before  God  ;  and,  moved  by  her  example, 
many  will  decline  from  evil  and  incHne  to 
that  which  is  good,  and  will  obtain  remission 
of  their  sms,  and  the  reward  of  life  from 
Christ."  And  then,  after  a  pause,  he  said  to 
the  young  girl,  ''  My  daughter,  Genevieve." 
She  answered,   "  Thy  little  maiden  listens." 

Then  he  said,  "Do  not  fear  to  tell  me 
whether  it  be  not  your  desire  to  devote  your- 
self body  and  soul  to  Christ." 

She  answered,  "  Blessed  be  thou,  father,  for 
thou  hast  spoken  my  desire.  1  pray  God 
earnestly  that  He  will  grant  it  me." 

"  Have     confidence,     my     daughter,"     said 


(Benevtere  of  iparts  117 

Germain  ;  "  be  of  good  courage,  and  what 
you  believe  in  your  heart  and  confess  with 
your  lips,  that  take  care  to  perform.  God 
will  add  to  your  comeliness  both  virtue  and 
strength." 

Then  they  went  into  the  church  and  sang 
nones  and  vespers,  and  throughout  the  office 
Bishop  Germain  rested  his  right  hand  on  the 
fair  little  head  of  the  child. 

That  evening,  after  supper  had  been  eaten 
and  they  had  sung  a  hymn,  Germain  bade 
Severus  retire  with  his  daughter,  but  bring 
her  to  him  again  early  next  morning.  So 
when  day  broke,  Severus  returned  with  the 
child,  and  the  old  bishop  smiled,  and  said, 
"Welcome,  little  daughter  Genevieve.  Do 
you  recollect  what  was  said  yesterday  ?  " 

She  answered,/  "  My  father,  I  remember 
what  I  promised,  and  with  God's  help  what 
I  promised  that  I  will  perform." 

Then  S.  Germain  picked  up  a  brass  coin 
from  the  ground,  which  had  the  sign  of  the 
cross  on  it,  and  which  he  had  noticed  lying 
there  whilst  he  was  speaking  ;  and  he  gave  it 
to  her,  saying,  "  Bore  a  hole  in  this,  and  wear 


ii8     Zbc  DivQin  Saints  ant)  /IDart^rs 

it  round  thy  neck  in  remembrance  of  me,  and 
let  no  other  ornament,  or  gold  or  silver  or 
pearls,  adorn  thy  neck  and  thy  fingers."  Then 
he  bade  her  farewell,  commending  her  to  the 
care  of  her  father,  and  pursued  his  journey. 

Now,  we  may  ask,  How  much  of  this  is 
true  ?  Almost  everything.  Genevieve  was 
certain  never  to  forget  how  the  old  bishop  had 
stopped  her,  when  a  little  mite  of  seven,  how 
he  had  asked  her  name,  had  made  her  promise 
to  love  and  fear  God  ;  how  in  church  his  hand 
had  rested  all  through  the  service  on  her  head, 
and  how  he  had  given  her  the  coin  to  wear. 
But  as  to  the  prophecy  relative  to  her  future, 
and  to  his  exacting  of  her  a  promise  to  be  a 
nun,  all  that  may  be  the  make-up  of  Genes, 
writing  after  she  had  been  a  blessing  to  the 
people  of  Paris,  and  had  embraced  the  mon- 
astic life. 

At  the  age  of  fifteen  she  and  two  other  girls 
somewhat  older  than  herself  presented  them- 
selves before  the  bishop  to  be  veiled  as  dedi- 
cated virgins.  It  was  remarked  that,  although 
Genevieve  was  the  youngest,  yet  the  bishop 
consecrated  her  first. 


Genevieve  of  ipatts  119 

After  their  dedication  they  returned  to  their 
homes  ;  for,  at  that  time,  it  was  not  a  matter 
of  course  that  consecrated  virgins  should  Uve 
in  community. 

About  this  time  her  mother  suffered  from 
inflamed  eyes,  and  for  twenty-one  months,  or 
nearly  two  years,  could  not  see  to  do  her  house- 
hold work.  Accordingly,  Genevieve  was  of 
immense  assistance  to  her.  She  was  wont  re- 
peatedly to  bathe  her  mother's  eyes  with  water 
from  the  well,  and  this  in  time  reduced  the 
inflammation,  so  that  eventually  Gerontia  re- 
covered her  sight. 

At  last  Genevieve  lost  both  her  parents,  and 
now,  having  no  home  duties  to  restrain  her, 
she  went  to  Paris  into  a  religious  community. 

In  447  S.  Germain  again  visited  Britain  about 
the  same  trouble  which  had  occasioned  his  first 
journey  ;  and  when,  on  his  way,  he  came  to 
Paris,  he  inquired  for  the  little  girl  whom  he 
had  blessed  at  Nanterre  eighteen  years  before. 

Genes  tells  us  that  some  spiteful  people 
sought  to  disparage  her  ;  but  Germain  would 
not  hearken  to  them,  and  sent  for  and  com- 
muned with  her. 


T20     XTbe  IDiratn  Saints  anb  /IDatti^rs 

What  caused  them  to  make  light  of  her  was 
probably  this.  She  had  adopted  a  life  of  great 
asceticism,  eating  nothing  but  barley  bread  and 
beans,  and  that  only  twice  in  the  week;  and 
remaining  within  her  cell,  conversing  with  none 
from  Epiphany  till  Easter. 

There  were  a  number  of  people  in  Paris  who 
did  not  like  these  extravagances ;  and  it  was 
these,  in  all  probability,  who  spoke  against  her 
to  S.  Germain.  But,  as  we  shall  see  presently, 
by  this  means  she  did  acquire  an  enormous 
power  over  the  people  of  Paris,  which  she  used 
for  good. 

S.  Germain  had  probably  but  just  returned 
from  Britain  before  a  new  and  terrible  scourge 
broke  upon  Gaul. 

In  451,  the  Huns,  headed  by  their  king, 
Attila,  burst  in.  In  two  columns  this  vast 
horde  had  ascended  the  Danube.  One  of  these 
drew  several  German  peoples  along  with  it, 
eager  for  plunder,  whilst  the  other  fell  on  and 
crushed  the  isolated  Roman  stations.  This 
agglomeration  of  invaders  met  at  the  sources 
of  the  Danube,  crossed  the  Rhine  at  Basle, 
where    the     proximity    to    the    Black    Forest 


Genevieve  of  iparts  121 

favoured  the  construction  of  rafts  for  passing 
over. 

The  Franks,  who  occupied  the  right  bank  of 
the  Rhine,  extended  their  hands  to  the  Huns. 
The  Burgundians,  however,  offered  a  vain  re- 
sistance, and  were  cut  to  pieces.  The  Huns, 
entering  Gaul,  completed  the  destruction  of 
what  had  been  left  standing  by  Vandals,  Suevi, 
and  Alans.  Attila,  following  the  Rhine  as  he 
had  the  Danube,  devastated  Alsace.  Strasburg, 
Spires,  Worms,  ruined  by  preceding  invasions, 
had  not  risen  from  the  dust.  Mayence  was 
sacked,  Toul  sank  in  flames,  Metz  had  its 
walls  and  towers  overthrown  after  a  few  months' 
resistance.  The  savage  conquerors  massacred 
all,  even  to  the  children  at  the  breast.  They 
fired  the  town,  and  long  after  its  site  could 
only  be  recognised  by  the  Chapel  of  S.  Stephen, 
which  had  escaped  the  conflagration. 

Several  cities  opened  their  gates  to  Attila  : 
they  hoped  to  find  safety  in  submission  ;  they 
did  but  expedite  their  destruction.  Despair 
gave  courage  to  others,  but  no  heroism  availed 
against  these  devouring  hordes.  Rheims  and 
Arras  were  delivered  over  to  the  sack.      The 


122     tTbe  DixQln  Saints  ant)  /Iftatti^ts 

host  broke  up  into  fractions,  which  ravaged  the 
country,  carrying  everywhere  fire  and  sword. 

Attila  advanced  to  the  Loire. 

Then  it  was  that  a  panic  fell  on  the  inhabitants 
of  Paris.  In  madness  of  fear,  they  prepared 
to  desert  it :  the  rich  in  their  chariots  and 
waggons,  the  poor  on  foot. 

It  was  now  that  S.  Genevieve  stood  for- 
ward and  rebuked  their  cowardice.  Whither 
could  they  fly  ?  The  enemy  penetrated  every- 
where. The  Hun  gained  audacity  by  the 
universal  panic.  Better  man  their  walls,  brace 
their  hearts,  and  resist  heroically. 

The  Parisian  mob,  headlong  and  cruel,  as 
such  a  mob  has  ever  been,  howled  at  her,  and 
prepared  to  pelt  her  with  stones  and  cast  her 
into  the  Seine,  when,  opportunely,  appeared 
the  Archdeacon  of  Auxerre,  sent  expressly 
to  Genevieve  from  the  bishop,  just  returned 
from  Britain,  and  now  dying,  bearing  Blessed 
Bread  to  her,  that  he  had  sent  in  token 
of  affectionate  communion.  This  loaf,  the 
eulogia^  was  that  from  which  the  bread  for 
the  Communion  had  been  taken,  and  which 
remained  over.     It  had  been  blessed,  but  not 


Genevieve  of  parts  123 

consecrated ;  and  it  was  sent  by  bishops  to 
those  whom  they  held  in  esteem. 

Such  a  token  of  regard  paid  to  Genevieve 
by  one  so  highly  esteemed  awed  the  rabble, 
and  they  swung  from  one  temper  to  another. 
They  were  now  amenable  to  her  advice.  They 
closed  the  gates,  accumulated  the  munitions  of 
war,  and  made  peparations  to  stand  a  siege  ; 
but  Attila  did  not  approach.  He  foresaw  that 
it  would  take  him  too  long  to  reduce  so  strong 
a  place.  On  the  14th  of  June,  451,  the  Huns 
encountered  their  first  repulse.  They  were 
driven  from  the  siege  of  Orleans.  On  the 
field  of^~Ghalons-sur-Marne,  the  memorable 
battle  was  fought  between  Aetius,  the  Roman 
general,  and  Attila.  "  It  was  a  battle,"  says 
the  historian  Jornandes,  "  which  for  atrocity, 
multitude,  horror,  and  stubbornness  has  not 
had  its  like."  The  field  was  heaped  with  the 
dead,  but  it  resulted  in  the  expulsion  of 
the  Huns  from  Gaul. 

Feeling  a  great  reverence  for  S.  Denis, 
Genevieve  desired  greatly  to  build  a  church 
on  the  scene  of  his  martyrdom  ;  and  she  urged 
some    priests    to    undertake    the    work.       But 


124     XTbe  ViVQin  Saints  an^  /IDart^ts 

they  hesitated,  saying  that  they  had  no  means 
of  burning  lime — it  was  a  lost  art.  Then, 
so  runs  the  tale,  one  of  them  suddenly 
recollected  having  heard  two  swineherds  in 
conversation  on  the  bridge  over  the  Seine. 
One  had  said  to  the  other  :  "  Whilst  I  was 
following  one  of  my  pigs  the  other  day,  I  lit 
in  the  forest  on  an  ancient  abandoned  lime- 
kiln." 

"  That  is  no  marvel,"  answered  the  other, 
"for  I  found  a  sapling  in  the  forest  uprooted 
by  the  wind,  and  under  its  roots  was  an  old 
kiln." 

The  priests  inquired  where  these  kilns  were 
and  used  them,  and  Genevieve  set  the  priest 
Genes,  who  was  afterwards  her  biographer,  to 
superintend  the  work  of  building  the  church. 

It  shows  to  what  a  condition  of  degradation 
the  art  of  building  had  fallen,  when  the  Parisians 
were  unable  to  burn  lime  without  old  Roman 
kilns  for  the  purpose. 

A  little  incident,  very  simple  and  natural, 
was  afterwards  worked  up  into  a  marvel.  She 
was  going  one  night  from  her  lodging  to  the 
church   for  prayers,   carrying   a   lantern,    when 


Genevieve  of  parts  125 

the  wind,  which  was  violent,  extinguished  it. 
She  opened  the  lantern,  when  a  pufF  of  wind 
on  the  thick  red  glowing  wick  rekindled  the 
flame.  This  was  thought  quite  miraculous. 
It  is  a  thing  that  has  happened  over  and 
over  again  with  tallow  candles  when  the  snufF 
is  long. 

In  the  year  486,  Childeric,  King  of  the 
Franks,  laid  siege  to  Paris,  which  had  remained 
under  Roman  governors.  The  siege  lasted  ten 
years,  to  496.  It  cannot  have  been  prosecuted 
with  much  persistence. 

The  Frank  army  reduced  the  city  to  great 
straits,  and  famine  set  in.  The  poor  suffered 
the  extremity  of  want,  and  were  dying  like 
flies.  No  one  seemed  to  know  what  to  do. 
All  energy  and  resourcefulness  had  deserted 
those  in  authority.  Genevieve  alone  showed 
what  steps  shouid  be  taken :  she  got  into  a  ship, 
and  was  rowed  up  the  Seine,  and  then  up  the 
Aube  to  Argis,  where  she  knew  that  she  could 
obtain  corn.  In  the  Seine  was  a  fallen  tree 
with  a  snag  that  had  been  the  cause  of  the  loss 
of  several  vessels,  but  no  one  had  thought  of 
removing    the    obstruction.       Genevieve    made 


126     TLbc  X)ivQin  Saints  an&  jflDart^ts 

her  boatmen  saw  up  the  tree  and  break  it,  so 
that  it  floated  down  stream  and  could  effect 
no  further  mischief.  Another  instance  of  the 
condition  of  helplessness  into  which  the  debased 
provincials  of  Gaul  had  fallen  :  they  neither 
could  build  lime-kilns  nor  keep  their  rivers 
open  for  traffic.  She  got  together  what  pro- 
visions she  could  at  Ar^is,  then  went  on  upon 
the  same  quest  to  Troyes,  and  finally  laded 
eleven  barges  with  corn,  and  returned  with  them 
to  the  famished  city.  As  they  neared  Paris  a 
strong  gale  was  blowing,  and  the  barges  being 
laden  very  heavily  ran  some  risk,  especially  as 
here  also  there  were  snags  in  the  water.  But 
with  patience  and  trouble  they  were  manoeuvred 
through  these  impediments,  and  the  convoy 
arrived  in  Paris,  with  the  priests  singing,  and 
all  who  were  in  the  boats  joining,  ''The  Lord 
is  our  help  and  our  salvation.  The  Lord  hath 
delivered  us  in  the  time  of  trouble." 

The  joy  and  gratitude  of  the  Parisians  knew 
no  bounds.  Afterwards,  when  the  city  did  fall, 
Childeric  resolved  on  executing  a  great  host 
of  captives  ;  but  Genevieve,  in  a  paroxysm  of 
compassion,  rushed  to  him,  fell  on  her  knees, 


(Bcncvicvc  of  ©arts  127 

and  would  not  desist  from  intercession  on  their 
behalf  till  he  had  consented  to  spare  them. 

At  length,  worn  out  by  age,  she  died  in  512, 
and  was  buried  in  Paris,  where  now  stands  the 
Pantheon.  The  church  was  desecrated  at  the 
Revolution,  and  turned  into  a  burial-place  for 
Mirabeau,  the  regicide  Lepelletier  de  Saint- 
Fargeau,  the  brutal  Marat,  Dampierre,  Fabre, 
BayJe,  and  other  revolutionaries.  The  bodies 
of  Voltaire  and  Rousseau  were  also  transferred 
to  it. 

In  i8o6-it  was  again  restored  as  a  church, 
but  was  once  more  turned  into  a  temple  after 
the  July  revolution  of  1830.  Once  again 
consecrated  in  1851,  it  was  finally  secularised 
in  1885  for  the  obsequies  of  Victor  Hugo. 


VIII 

THE    SISTER    OF    S.    BENEDICT 


129 


THE    SISTER   OF   S.    BENEDICT. 


VIII 

THE   SISTER    OF  S.    BENEDICT 

[T  looked  to  the  eyes  of  Christians  of  the 
Roman  Empire  crumbling  to  pieces  as 
though  the  end  of  all  things  were  at  hand. 
From  every  quarter  barbarism  was  extending 
over  the  confines  of  the  Empire  and  was  break- 
ing them  down.  The  civilisation  which  had 
been  built  up  through  centuries,  the  organism 
of  political  unity,  the  literature  and  learning 
of  two  great  and  gifted  races,  the  Greek  and 
the  Latin,  achievements  of  art  never  to  be 
surpassed,  and  Christianity,  all  seemed  destined 
to  go  down  and  be  trodden  under  foot  never 
to  reappear. 

Throughout  the  Church  there  rose  the  wail 

to  God — "  Thine  adversaries  roar  in  the  midst 

of  Thy  congregations  :   and  set  up  their  banners 

for  tokens.     He  that  hewed  timber  afore    out 

131 


132     TTbe  IDtratn  Saints  anb  /IDartprs 

of  the  thick  trees  was  known  to  bring  it  to 
an  excellent  work.  But  now  they  break  down 
all  the  carved  work  thereof  with  axes  and 
hammers.  They  have  set  fire  upon  Thy 
holy  places :  and  have  defiled  the  dwelling- 
place  of  Thy  Name,  even  unto  the  ground. 
Yea,  they  said  in  their  hearts.  Let  us  make 
havock  of  them  altogether :  thus  have  they 
burnt  up  all  the  houses  of  God  in  the  land. 
We  see  not  our  tokens,  there  is  not  one  prophet 
more  :  no,  not  one  is  there  among  us,  that 
understandeth  any  more.  O  God,  how  long 
shall  the  adversary  do  this  dishonour  :  how 
long  shall  the  enemy  blaspheme  Thy  Name, 
for  ever  ?  " 

Confusion,  corruption,  despair  and  death, 
were  everywhere  ;  social  dismemberment  was 
complete.  The  empire  that  had  embraced  the 
known  world  was  crumbling  to  dust  under  the 
blows  of  the  mysterious  multitudes  passing  out 
of  the  darkness  beyond  the  pale.  Odoacer, 
the  chief  of  the  Heruli,  had  snatched  the  purple 
of  the  Caesars  from  the  shoulders  of  their  last 
representative  in  476,  but  himself  disdained  to 
wear  a  mantle  that  was  stained  with  cowardice 


XTbe  Sister  of  S»  Benedict         133 

and  dishonour.  Authority,  morals,  laws,  science, 
the  arts,  religion  itself,  all  seemed  to  be  sinking 
into  the  vortex  of  death. 

Germany  was  wholly  pagan,  a  breeding-place 
of  hordes  that  burst  forth  periodically  to  de- 
vastate the  land  that  had  been  cultivated,  and 
to  extinguish  the  light  wherever  it  burned. 
Gaul  had  been  overwhelmed  by  successive  waves 
of  barbarism.  Spain  was  ravaged  by  Visigoths, 
Suevi,  Alani,  and  Vandals.  These  latter  had 
swept  over  Northern  Africa,  and  had  given 
it  up  to  unpitying  persecution.  Britain  had 
been  invaded  by  the  Anglo-Saxons,  who  had 
driven  the  Britons  and  their  Christianity  to 
the  mountains  of  Strathclyde,  Wales,  and  to 
the  peninsula  of  Cornwall.  Over  the  frozen 
Danube,  the  Goths  had  passed  on  their 
cumbrous  waggons,  and  had  spread  from  the 
woody  shores  of  Dalmatia  to  the  walls  of 
Constantinople. 

The  condition  of  Italy,  the  heart  and  soul 
of  the  Empire  that  had  been  dissolved,  was 
deplorable  to  the  last  degree.  For  centuries 
agriculture  had  decayed  in  it,  as  the  farms 
were  absorbed  by  the  great  senatorial   families 


134     Ube  VivQin  Saints  anb  /IDart^rs 

and  worked  by  their  slaves.  The  people  had 
come  to  expect  their  grain  from  Egypt  and 
Africa,  and  now  these  tributary  harvests  were 
withdrawn.  War,  famine,  pestilence  stalked 
over  its  fair  plains,  and  mowed  down  such  as 
remained  of  the  population.  Pope  Gelasius 
affirmed,  with  some  exaggeration,  that  in 
^Emilia,  Tuscany  and  the  adjacent  provinces, 
the  human  species  was  almost  extirpated. 
"  The  plebeians  of  Rome,"  says  Gibbon,  ''  who 
were  fed  by  the  hand  of  their  master,  perished 
or  disappeared,  as  soon  as  his  liberality  was 
suppressed  ;  the  decline  of  the  arts  reduced  the 
industrious  mechanic  to  idleness  and  want  ; 
and  the  senators,  who  might  support  with 
patience  the  ruin  of  their  country,  bewailed 
their  private  loss  of  wealth  and  luxury.  One- 
third  of  those  ample  estates,  to  which  the 
ruin  of  Italy  is  originally  imputed,  was  extorted 
for  the  use  of  the  conquerors.  Injuries  were 
aggravated  by  insults  ;  the  sense  of  actual 
sufferings  was  embittered  by  the  fear  of  more 
dreadful  evils  ;  and  as  new  lands  were  allotted 
to  new  swarms  of  barbarians,  each  senator 
was   apprehensive   lest   the  arbitrary  surveyors 


Ube  Sister  ot  ©♦  Benebict         135 

should  approach  his  favourite  villa,  or  his 
most  profitable  farm.  The  least  unfortunate 
were  those  who  submitted  without  a  murmur 
to  the  power  which  it  was  impossible  to 
resist.'* 

The  general  despair  produced  in  religious 
minds  the  conviction  that  the  fashion  of  the 
world  was  passing  away,  there  was  nothing 
further  to  be  hoped  for  in  it,  and  that  the  only 
direction  in  which  the  eternal  spring  of  hope 
could  flow  was  in  the  channels  of  religion  that 
led  to  heaven. 

This  was  the  condition  of  affairs  in  Italy, 
and  this  explains  the  origin  and  the  enormous 
expansion  of  the  Benedictine  Order. 

S.  Benedict  was  born  along  with  his  sister 
Scholastica  in  the  year  480.  They  were  twins, 
and  loved  each  other  with  that  tenderness 
which  so  generally  exists  between  twins  ;  they 
were  of  one  heart  and  one  soul. 

They  belonged  to  the  noble  Anician  family, 
whose  history  is  traceable  to  the  second  century 
before  Christ. 

Benedict  and  his  twin  sister  were  born  at 
Nursia,  a  Sabine  town,  situated  high  up  in  the 


136     Ube  IDlrgtn  Saints  an^  /IDart^rs 

mountains  near  the  source  of  the  Nar.  It 
was  here  that  Vespasia  Polla,  mother  of  the 
Emperor  Vespasian,  was  also  born.  Virgil 
speaks  of  the  coldness  of  its  climate,  as  the 
chilly  cradle  of  the  waters  of  Tiber  and  Febaris. 
To  the  east  tower  up  the  Apennines  to  the 
peak  of  the  Monte  della  Sibilla.  Two  cen- 
turies after  the  death  of  Benedict,  the  vast 
ruins  of  his  ancestral  palace  were  still  to  be 
seen  outside  the  town  gates. 

Doubtless  it  was  to  this  Alpine  retreat  that 
the  family  had  fled  to  hide  themselves  from 
the  Gothic  invaders  who  were  devouring  the 
land.  Benedict  and  his  twin  sister,  as  their 
minds  opened,  became  aware  of  the  universal 
hopelessness  that  possessed  men's  minds.  The 
doom  of  the  great  nobles  was  as  certainly 
sealed  as  at  the  French  Revolution.  No 
prospect  was  open  to  them  of  any  work,  any 
career  in  political  life.  They  could  not  fly 
the  fatherland  to  the  colonies,  for  the  colonies 
were  in  the  throes  as  well. 

These  little  children,  wandering  hand  in 
hand  through  the  empty  halls  of  the  palace, 
became    prematurely    grave,    and    at    an    early 


Zhc  Sister  ot  S»  BeneMct         137 

age  were  convinced  that  the  only  life  open  to 
them  was  that  of  religion. 

Scholastica  was  the  first  to  speak  out  what 
she  felt,  and  to  resolve  to  devote  herself  wholly 
to  God.  Who  could  think  of  marriage  then, 
when  there  was  no  prospect  of  being  able  to 
rear  a  family  in  sufficiency  and  to  any  career  ? 
Benedict  followed.  Leaving  his  old  nurse,  to 
whom  the  charge  of  the  children  had  been 
committed,  and  who  loved  them  as  her  own 
soul,  he  plunged  into  the  gorges  of  the  moun- 
tains to  seek  for  a  retreat  where  he  might 
discipHne  his  body  and  soul.  The  place  he 
found  was  Subiaco,  twenty-six  miles  from 
Tivoli,  up  the  valley  of  the  Anio.  Why  he 
chose  this  spot  we  do  not  know.  He  can 
hardly  have  stumbled  on  it  in  his  wanderings 
about  Nursia,  and  it  is  probable  that  he  went 
thence  from  some  other  villa  and  estate  of  his 
parents. 

The  first  place  where  he  lodged  was  Men- 
torella,  and  there  his  nurse,  Cyrilla,  came  up 
with  him,  and  insisted  on  furnishing  him  with 
supplies  of  food.  But  thence  he  soon  went 
on  to   Subiaco,  where  he  found  a  cave  in  the 


138     Ube  IDirgtn  Saints  anb  /[Darters 

face  of  the  rocks  above  the  falls  of  the  Anio, 
and  there  he  spent  three  years.  Every  day, 
Romanus,  a  monk  who  dwelt  amid  a  colony 
of  anchorites  among  the  ruins  of  Nero's  palace, 
near  at  hand,  let  down  to  him  half  a  loaf  from 
the  top  of  the  rock  above,  giving  him  notice 
of  its  approach  by  the  ringing  of  a  bell  sus- 
pended to  the  same  rope  with  the  food. 

It  was  an  astounding  mode  of  life  for  a 
boy  growing  into  manhood,  and  we  should 
now  consider  it  a  most  unprofitable  one.  But 
it  was  not  destined  to  be  unprofitable — very 
much  the  contrary  ;  and  we  must  remember 
that  there  was  absolutely  no  other  field  for  the 
activities  of  a  young  noble  open  before  him. 

"  How  perfectly,"  says  Dean  Milman,  **  the 
whole  atmosphere  was  then  impregnated  with 
an  inexhaustible  yearning  for  the  supernatural, 
appears  from  the  ardour  with  which  the 
monastic  passions  were  indulged  at  the  earliest 
age.  Children  were  nursed  and  trained  to 
expect  at  every  instant  more  than  human 
interferences ;  their  young  energies  had  ever 
before  them  examples  of  asceticism,  to  which 
it  was   the  glory,   the   true   felicity   of  life,   to 


trbe  Sister  of  S.  BeneMct         139 

aspire.  The  thoughtful  child  had  all  his  mind 
thus  preoccupied.  He  was  early,  it  might 
almost  seem  intuitively,  trained  to  this  course 
of  life  ;  wherever  there  was  gentleness,  modesty, 
the  timidity  of  young  passion,  repugnance  to 
vice,  an  imaginative  temperament,  a  conscious- 
ness of  unfitness  to  wrestle  with  the  rough 
realities  of  life,  the  way  lay  invitingly  open — 
the  difficult,  it  is  true,  and  painful,  but  direct 
and  unerring  way  to  heaven." 

Such  a  life  is  not  needed  now-a-days.  What 
is  now  required  is  one  like  that  of  Angela,  in 
Sir  Walter  Besant's  "  All  Sorts  and  Conditions 
of  Men,"  who  will  plunge  into  the  sordid 
wretchedness  of  the  slums  of  our  great  cities, 
and  labour  there  to  bring  happiness  to  the 
dull  lives  of  the  toilers — who  will  labour  to 
ameliorate  the  condition  of  those  that  are  the 
slaves  of  our  nineteenth-century  civilisation. 
What  we  require  —  what  God  requires  —  are 
social  reformers,  men  and  women,  who  in  place 
of  living  selfish  lives  of  amusement  and  luxury, 
will  devote  themselves  to  helping  to  raise  those 
who  are  down,  who  will  seek  happiness,  not  in 
pampering  self,   but    in    making  others   happy. 


I40     Ube  WivQin  Saints  an^  /II>art^r0 

After  a  while  crowds  of  disciples  flocked  to 
Benedict,  and  then  he  left  Subiaco  for  Monte 
Cassino,  which  was  thenceforth  to  be  the 
capital  of  monastic  life. 

Strange  it  may  appear,  but  it  was  true,  that 
Benedict  found  the  people  round  Cassino  still 
pagans,  offering  sacrifices  in  a  temple  to 
Apollo  on  the  height  where  he  chose  to  plant 
his  settlement. 

"  In  old  days, 
That  mountain,  at  whose  side  Cassino  rests, 
Was,  on  its  height,  frequented  by  a  race 
Deceived  and  ill-disposed  ;  and  I  it  was, 
Who  thither  carried  first  the  name  of  Him, 
Who  brought  the  soul-subliming  truth  to  man, 
And  such  a  speeding  grace  shone  over  me, 
That  from  their  impious  worship  I  reclaim'd 
The  dwellers  round  about." — Dante,  Far.  xxii. 

The  visitor  to  Monte  Cassino  now  leaves 
the  station  at  San  Germano,  and  hires  donkeys 
for  the  ascent.  The  steep  and  stony  path 
winds  above  the  roofs  of  the  houses  of  the 
town,  and  at  every  path  opens  fresh  views  of 
entrancing  beauty.  The  silver  thread  of  the 
Garigliano  lies  below,  with  towns  studded  on 
its  banks  ;  long  ranges    of  mountains    of   the 


Ube  Sister  of  S.  :BeneMct         141 

most  beautiful  outline  break  the  horizon,  billow 
after  billow  of  intensest  blue,  crested  as  with 
a  foam  of  snow.  Little  oratories  by  the  way- 
side commemorate  incidents  in  the  life  of 
S.  Benedict.  First  comes  that  of  S.  Placidus, 
the  favourite  disciple  of  the  patriarch  ;  then 
that  of  Scholastica  his  sister  ;  then  one  where 
he  is  supposed  to  have  wrought  a  miracle  ; 
next  a  cross  on  a  platform  that  indicates  the 
place  where  brother  and  sister  met  for  the  last 
time — of  which  more  anon.  Then  a  grating 
and  a  cross  where  S.  Benedict  knelt  to  ask 
God's  blessing  before  he  laid  the  foundation 
stone  of  his  monastery.  Benedict  had  been 
thirty-six  years  a  monk  before  he  came  to 
Monte  Cassino,  and  we  know  nothing  of  his 
sister's  life  through  all  these  years,  save  that 
she  had  maintained  a  still  and  holy  converse 
with  God.  It  is  most  probable  that  she  had 
never  tarried  very  far  from  her  brother.  Now 
that  he  settled  at  Monte  Cassino,  she  came 
and  planted  herself  with  a  little  community 
of  pious  women  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain. 
Scholastica  was  as  white  in  soul,  as  earnest,  as 
devout  as  was  Benedict.     They  were  alike    in 


142     Xlbe  IDtrgtn  Saints  anb  /IDart^rs 

everything  save  in  sex ;  and  she  became,  as 
unawares  as  himself,  a  mighty  foundress — 
for  if  from  him  houses  for  men  multiplied 
throughout  the  Western  world,  so  was  she 
the  mother  spiritual  of  innumerable  similar 
refuges  for  holy  women. 

At  Monte  Cassino,  according  to  the  ex- 
pression of  Pope  Urban  II.,  "  the  monastic 
life  flowed  from  the  heart  of  Benedict  as  from 
the  fountain  of  Paradise,"  and  here  it  was  that 
he  composed  his  famous  rule,  that  commenced 
with  the  words,  "  Hearken,  O  my  sons " 
[<iAusculta  0  fill). 

When  he  drew  it  up,  not  a  notion  came 
into  his  head  that  he  was  doing  a  work  that 
would  last,  a  work  that  was  absolutely  needed 
for  the  times,  and  without  which  the  barbarians 
would  never  have  been  tamed  and  regenerated, 
and  a  new  civiHsation  superior  to  the  old  rise 
out  of  the  ashes  of  that  which  expired. 

It  is  quite  true  that  there  were  plenty  of 
monks  and  nuns  already  scattered  about ; 
but  they  were  under  no  definite  rule,  under 
no  strict  obedience.  We  see  exactly  how  it 
was    among    the    Celtic    societies.       An    abbot 


XTbe  Sister  of  S.  3BeneMct         143 

or  abbess  rambled  over  the  West,  now  in 
Ireland,  then  in  Scotland,  in  Britain,  in  Armorica, 
dived  into  the  Swiss  gorges,  strayed  about  in 
the  woods  of  Germany,  founding  houses  and 
churches,  then  going  farther.  And  just  as  the 
abbots  were  ever  on  the  move,  so  was  it  with 
those  who  placed  themselves  under  their  teach- 
ing. No  sooner  did  they  think  they  knew 
enough,  or  no  sooner  did  the  itch  of  change 
affect  them,  than  away  they  went,  now  to 
pay  a  brief  visit  to  some  other  great  master,  then 
to  be  off  again  and  found  monasteries  of  their 
own.  There  was  no  stability  about  them,  and 
above  all  no  organisation.  The  idea  of 
obedience  never  seems  to  have  entered  their 
heads,  and,  as  a  matter  of  course,  a  great 
number  of  vagabonds  too  idle  to  work,  and 
loving  change,  assumed  the  tonsure  and  habit, 
and  roved  over  the  country  leading  scandalous 
lives  ;  in  fact,  the  Hooligans  of  the  day  postured 
as  saints.  Monachism,  which  should  have  served 
a  high  missionary  purpose,  for  lack  of  organisa- 
tion was  becoming  a  discredit  to  Christianity. 

There  is  a  striking  French  tale,  "  Mon  oncle 
Celestin,"    by  Ferdinand    Faber,  in    which    he 


144     XTbe  IDir^tn  Saints  anb  /II^artl5r5 

describes  the  **  ermites  "  of  the  Cevennes  and 
the  south  of  France,  a  set  of  men  who  pretend 
to  lead  exalted  lives,  wear  a  religious  habit,  are 
under  no  ecclesiastical  discipline,  and  who — 
with  some  notable  exceptions — are  a  scandal 
and  source  of  demoralisation.  Now  the  monks 
and  ascetics  before  S.  Benedict  were  very  much 
like  these  modern  "  ermites  "  of  the  Cevennes. 

The  great  work  of  S.  Benedict  was  to  co- 
ordinate all  these  ardent  men  in  one  body,  to 
subject  them  to  discipline,  to  insist  on  obedi- 
ence, and  then  to  employ  their  powers  for  the 
good  of  the  Church  and  of  humanity  in  general. 

At  that  period,  when  nations  had  to  be 
conquered,  and  those  nations  barbarian,  the 
ordinary  methods  of  propagating  the  faith  did 
not  suffice.  Single  priests  were  pretty  sure  to 
be  butchered,  or  if  not,  alone  they  could  effect 
very  little.  Besides,  the  barbarians  had  to  be 
taught  something  more  than  Christianity  ;  they 
had  to  be  instructed  in  the  industrial  arts  and 
in  agriculture. 

Now,  the  Benedictine  monastery  was  not 
only  a  missionary  establishment  containing  a 
great  many  men,  but  it  was  a  school,  a  hospital, 


Ube  Sister  ot  S»  BeneMct         145 

a     poorhouse,     a     great    workshop,     and     an 
agricultural  institution. 

But  we  must  leave  this  interesting  topic  to 
speak  of  S,  Scholastica. 

As  already  said,  she  had  established  herself 
at  the  foot  of  the  mountain  with  a  community 
of  Uke-minded  women  who  were  under  the 
direction  of  her  brother.  They  met  only  once 
a  year  ;  and  then  it  was  that  Scholastica  left 
her  cloister  to  seek  Benedict.  He,  on  his  side, 
descended  part  way  to  meet  her  ;  and  the  place 
where  they  clasped  hands  and  looked  into  each 
other's  eyes  was  on  the  mountain  side,  not  very 
far  from  the  gate  of  the  monastery. 

"  There,  at  their  last  meeting,  occurred  that 
struggle  of  fraternal  love  with  the  austerity  of 
the  rule,  which  is  the  only  episode  in  the  life 
of  Scholastica,  and  which  has  insured  an 
imperishable  remembrance  to  her  name.  They 
had  passed  the  entire  day  in  pious  conversation, 
mingled  with  the  praises  of  God.  Towards 
evening  they  ate  together. 

*'  While  they  were  still  at  table,  and  the  night 
approached,  Scholastica  said  to  her  brother,  '  I 
pray  thee  do  not  leave  me  to-night,  but  let  us 

10 


146     Zbc  ViVQin  Saints  anb  /I[^art^r0 

speak  of  the  joys  of  heaven  till  the  morning."* 
'  What  sayest  thou,  my  sister !  '  answered 
Benedict  ;  '  on  no  account  can  I  remain  out 
of  the  monastery.' 

*'  Upon  the  refusal  of  her  brother,  Scholastica 
bent  her  head  between  her  clasped  hands  on  the 
table,  and  prayed  to  God,  shedding  tears  to  such 
an  extent  that  they  ran  over  the  table.  The 
weather  was  at  the  time  serene  :  there  was 
not  a  cloud  in  the  sky.  But  scarcely  had  she 
raised  her  head,  when  thunder  was  heard  mutter- 
ing, and  a  storm  began.  The  rain,  lightning, 
and  thunder  were  such,  that  neither  Benedict 
nor  any  of  the  brethren  who  accompanied  him 
could  take  a  step  beyond  the  roof  that  sheltered 
them. 

"  Then  he  said  to  Scholastica,  *  May  God 
pardon  thee,  my  sister,  but  what  hast  thou 
done  ^ '  '  Ah  yes  ! '  she  answered  him, '  I  prayed 
thee,  and  thou  wouldst  not  listen  to  me ;  then 
I  prayed  God,  and  He  heard  me.  Go  now, 
if  thou  canst,  and  send  me  away,  to  return  to 
my  convent.' 

"  He  resigned  himself,  against  his  will,  to 
remain,  and  they  passed  the  rest  of  the  night 


XCbe  Sister  of  S»  BeneMct         147 

in  spiritual  conversation.  S.  Gregory,  who  has 
preserved  this  tale  to  us,  adds  that  it  is  not  to 
be  wondered  at  God  granting  the  desire  of  the 
sister  rather  than  that  of  the  brother,  because 
of  the  two  it  was  the  sister  who  loved  most, 
and  that  those  who  love  most  have  the  greatest 
power  with  God. 

"  In  the  morning  they  parted,  to  see  each 
other  no  more  in  this  life.  Three  days  after, 
Benedict,  being  at  the  window  of  his  cell,  had 
a  vision,  in  which  he  saw  his  sister  entering 
heaven  under  the  form  of  a  dove.  Overpowered 
with  joy,  his  gratitude  burst  forth  in  songs  and 
hymns  to  the  glory  of  God.  He  immediately 
sent  for  the  body  of  the  saint,  which  was  brought 
to  Monte  Cassino,  and  placed  in  the  sepulchre 
he  had  already  prepared  for  himself,  that  death 
might  not  separate  those  whose  souls  had  always 
been  united  to  God. 

**  The  death  of  his  sister  was  the  signal  ot 
departure  for  himself.  He  survived  her  only 
forty  days.  A  violent  fever  having  seized  him, 
he  caused  himself  to  be  carried  into  the  chapel 
of  S.  John  the  Baptist.  He  had  before  ordered 
to  be  opened  the  tomb  in  which  his  sister  slept. 


148     Ube  VivQin  Saints  an^  /llbart^ts 

There,  supported  in  the  arms  of  his  disciples, 
he  received  the  viaticum  :  then,  placing  himself 
at  the  side  of  the  open  grave,  at  the  foot  of  the 
altar,  and  with  his  arms  extended  towards  heaven, 
he  died  standing,  murmuring  a  last  prayer. 

"  Died  standing  ! — such  a  victorious  death 
became  well  the  great  soldier  of  God."  ^ 

He  was  buried  beside  his  sister,  on  the  very 
spot  where  had  stood  the  altar  of  Apollo  which 
he  had  cast  down. 

1  Montalembert :  Monks  of  the  West,  Book  iv.  c.  i. 


IX 

S.    BRIDGE"! 


149 


BRIDGET   OF    KILDARE. 


IX 

S.  BRIDGET 

ONE  would  have  to  look  through  many 
centuries,  and  over  a  wide  tract  of  the 
earth's  surface,  to  find  a  woman  who  possessed 
in  her  own  generation  so  large  an  influence, 
and  who  so  deeply  impressed  her  personality 
on  after  generations,  as  S.  Bridget.  A  woman 
she  was,  with  no  advantages  of  birth  ;  but 
who  by  the  mere  force  of  character  and  her 
marvellous  holiness,  became  a  predominating 
power  in  the  Church  of  Ireland  after  the  death 
of  S.  Patrick. 

It  is  said  of  the  sick  that  the  nurse  is  as 
important  as  the  doctor  ;  and  in  the  spread  of 
the  Gospel  and  the  estabHshment  of  the  Church, 
the  part  of  Bridget  was  only  second  to  that 
of  the  great  Apostle  of  Ireland. 

The  lives  of  S.  Bridget  that  we  possess  are, 
isi 


152     Ubc  IDlrgtn  Saints  an&  /IDart^rs 

unhappily,  late,  and  intermixed,  nay,  overloaded 
with  fable  ;  the  most  grotesque  and  prepos- 
terous miracles  are  attributed  to  her.  Never- 
theless, when  sifted,  and  the  extravagances  have 
been  eliminated,  sufficient  of  truth,  of  real 
history  and  biography  remains  behind  for  us  to 
distinguish  the  main  outline  of  her  story,  and 
to  discern  the  real  characteristics  of  the  Saint. 

It  would  seem  to  be  a  law  of  Divine  provi- 
dence, that  at  such  periods  of  transformation 
as  arise  periodically,  suitable  persons  should 
rise  to  prominence  for  giving  direction  to 
the  disturbed  minds  of  men  in  the  general 
dislocation  of  received  ideas. 

To  understand  the  exact  position  of  S.  Bridget, 
and  the  work  she  wrought,  it  is  necessary  for 
us  to  look  at  the  condition  of  Ireland  before 
it  received  the  Gospel. 

The  whole  political  organisation  was  tribal, 
and  not  territorial.  The  chief  of  the  clan  was 
almost  absolute,  and  about  him,  as  a  centre 
of  unity,  the  tribesmen  clung,  as  bees  about 
their  queen. 

The  chiefs  had  their  Druids  or  Medicine- 
men, who  blessed  their  undertakings  and  cursed 


©♦  SSdbget  153 

their  enemies,  and  the  most  unbounded  con- 
fidence was  placed  in  the  efficacy  of  these 
blessings  or  curses.  The  Druids  were  endowed 
with  lands,  and  probably  in  Ireland,  as  in 
Britain,  constituted  sacred  tribes  within  the 
tribal  confines  of  the  secular  chiefs. 

When  S.  Patrick  arrived  he  at  once  strove 
to  effect  the  conversion  of  the  chiefs,  for  with- 
out that  his  efforts  with  the  bulk  of  the 
population  must  fail,  and  the  conversion  of  a 
chief  entailed  as  a  consequence  that  of  his 
clan.  The  Druids,  when  discredited,  were 
disposed  to  accept  Christianity  ;  where  they 
were  not,  the  chiefs  did  not  disestabHsh  them, 
but  gave  to  S.  Patrick  and  his  followers  fresh 
sites  on  which  to  constitute  their  own  ecclesi- 
astical federations,  on  precisely  the  same  system 
as  that  of  the  Druids.  S.  Patrick  throughout 
acted  in  the  most  conciliatory  spirit ;  he  over- 
threw nothing  that  was  capable  of  being 
adapted,  and  his  wise  forbearance  conciliated 
even  those  at  first  most  opposed  to  him. 

There  can  be  little  doubt  that  in  Ireland,  as 
in  Gaul,  there  had  been  colleges  of  Druidesses, 
as    there    had    been    of  Druids.       We   do   not 


154     XTbe  VivQin  Saints  anb  /IDart^rs 

know  this  by  the  testimony  of  texts,  but  it  is 
more  than  probable.  In  Gaul  these  women 
were  prophetesses  ;  they  lived  in  solitary  places, 
often  on  islands.  The  nine  Scenas  occupied 
an  island  in  the  Seine.  The  priestesses  of  the 
Namnetes  lived  on  another  at  the  mouth  of 
the  Loire,  in  huts  about  a  temple.  Once  in 
the  year  they  were  bound,  between  one  night 
and  another,  to  destroy  and  replace  the  roof 
of  their  temple  ;  and  woe  to  the  woman  who 
dropped  any  of  the  sacred  materials  !  Instantly 
she  was  set  upon  by  her  sisters,  and  torn  limb 
from  limb. 

When  S.  Patrick  and  his  missionaries  entered 
on  the  prerogatives  of  the  Druids,  there  was 
occasion  for  Christian  women  to  usurp  the 
places,  and  to  some  extent  the  functions,  of 
the  Druidesses.  And  this  is  precisely  the  line 
adopted  by  S.  Bridget.  The  year  of  her 
birth  was  between  451  and  458,  and  she  was 
the  daughter  of  a  slave  woman,  who  had  been 
sold  to  a  Druid.  Her  mother's  name  was 
Brotseach.  The  father,  Dubtach,  was  a  nominal 
Christian,  but  a  thoroughly  heartless  and  un- 
principled man. 


S.  Brtbaet  155 

The  Druid  and  his  wife  were  kindly  people, 
and  provided  a  white  cow  with  red  ears,  on 
whose  milk  the  little  child  was  reared,  and 
they  allowed  only  one  woman  whom  they 
could  trust  to  milk  the  cow.  As  she  grew 
up,  Bridget  was  set  to  keep  sheep  on  the 
moors  ;  and  there,  not  only  did  she  tend  them, 
but  she  also  tamed  the  wild  birds  that  flew 
about  her.  Soon  the  wild  ducks  and  brent- 
geese allowed  her  to  stroke  them.  When  she 
had  grown  old  enough  to  be  useful,  she  asked 
leave  to  go  and  see  her  father,  who  lived  in 
Leinster,  whereas  her  mother  was  a  slave  in 
Ulster.  The  Druid  at  once  gave  her  leave, 
and  she  left.  Her  father  was  not  cordial  in 
his  reception  of  her,  and  set  her  to  keep  swine, 
and  also  at  times  to  manage  the  kitchen.  On 
one  occasion,  when  visited  by  an  acquaintance, 
he  bade  her  boil  five  pieces  of  bacon  for  the 
entertainment.  Unfortunately  a  hungry  dog 
came  in  and  carried  off  some  of  the  bacon. 
This  threw  Dubtach  into  a  fury,  and  he  sent 
her  back  to  her  mother. 

On  her  return,  Bridget  found  Brotseach 
very    ill    and    unable    to   attend  to    her    work. 


156     tTbe  IDirgin  Saints  anb  /[battlers 

It  was  summer,  and  she  had  been  sent  with 
the  cattle  to  a  mountain  pasture,  such  as  in 
Wales  is  called  a  hafod^  whereas  the  winter 
habitation  is  the  hendre.  There  were  twelve 
cows  to  be  milked,  and  their  butter  to  be  made. 
Bridget  undertook  the  supervision  of  the  dairy 
with  energy,  and  some  verses  have  been  pre- 
served which  it  is  said  she  sang  as  she  churned  : 
"  Oh,  my  Prince,  who  canst  do  all  things, 
and  God,  bless,  I  pray  Thee,  my  kitchen  with 
Thy  right  hand — my  kitchen,  the  kitchen 
blessed  by  the  white  God,  blessed  by  the 
Mighty  King,  a  kitchen  stocked  with  butter. 
Son  of  Mercy,  my  Friend,  come  and  look  upon 
my  kitchen,  and  give  me  abundance." 

It  was  reported  to  the  Druid  that  Bridget 
gave  the  buttermilk  to  the  poor,  and  he  and 
his  wife  started  for  the  mountain  dairy  to 
see  that  she  was  not  wasting  their  substance  ; 
but  they  found  that  the  butter  she  had  made 
was  so  good  and  so  plentiful  that  they 
were  satisfied.  Indeed,  the  kindly  old  man 
at  once  gave  Brotseach  and  Bridget  their 
liberty,  to  go  where  they  would.  He  and 
his    wife    had    been    won    by    their    piety    and 


S,  BtiC^QCt  157 

blameless  life,  and  gladly  consented  to  be 
baptised. 

Bridget  and  her  mother  left  with  thanks 
and  tears,  and  went  to  Leinster  to  Dubtach, 
who  was  well  connected  and  rich,  but  avaricious. 
Bridget  particularly  annoyed  him  by  her  readi- 
ness to  give  food  to  the  poor.  To  what 
extent  she  was  justified  in  this  may  be  ques- 
tioned. But  it  must  be  remembered  that  the 
period  was  one  in  which  no  provision  whatever 
was  made  for  the  poor,  who  starved  unless 
assisted  ;  and  the  girl's  tender  heart  could  not 
endure  to  see  their  sufferings  and  not  to 
relieve  them. 

At  last  Dubtach  could  stand  it  no  longer, 
and  he  took  her  in  his  chariot  to  sell  her  into 
slavery,  to  grind  at  the  quern  for  Dunking, 
son  of  the  King  of  Leinster.  On  reaching  the 
king's  dun,  or  castle,  Dubtach  went  within 
and  left  Bridget  outside  in  the  chariot.  A 
squalid  leper  came  up,  begging.  Bridget, 
whether  out  of  impulsive  charity,  or  more 
probably  in  a  fit  of  mischievous  cunning, 
knowing  that  her  father  was  selling  her  like  a 
calf  or   a  sheep,  gave  to  the  leper  the  sword 


158     Xlbe  IDtratn  Saints  ant)  /llbarti^rs 

which  Dubtach  had  left  in  the  chariot.  The 
poor  man  at  once  disappeared  with  the  gift. 
Next  moment  the  prince  and  her  father  issued 
from  the  dun ;  the  prince  desired  to  look 
at  the  girl  before  purchasing  her.  Instantly 
Dubtach  discovered  that  his  sword  was  gone, 
and  he  asked  after  it.  "I  have  given  it  away 
for  your  souFs  good,"  said  Bridget,  with  a 
twinkle  in  her  eye.  "  On  my  word ! "  exclaimed 
the  prince,  "  I  cannot  afford  to  buy  such 
extravagant  slaves  as  this." 

Dubtach  drove  home  in  a  fury,  and  he  made 
his  house  so  intolerable  that  she  resolved  to 
embrace  the  monastic  life.  She  sought  Bishop 
Maccaille,  taking  seven  companions  with  her, 
all  desiring  to  unite  in  the  service  of  God  and 
in  ministering  to  the  sick  and  needy. 

Bishop  Maccaille  placed  white  veils  on  their 
heads,  and  blessed  and  consecrated  them. 
Bridget  was  then  aged  eighteen. 

Each  of  the  girls  chose  one  of  the  Beatitudes 
as  her  special  virtue,  which  before  all  others 
she  would  seek  to  attain  ;  and  Bridget  selected 
as  hers  ^'  Blessed  are  the  merciful,  for  they 
shall  obtain  mercy." 


S.  IBvi^QCt  159 

An  odd  story  was  told  in  later  times  con- 
cerning this  consecration.  It  was  said  that 
Maccaille  opened  his  book  in  the  wrong  place, 
and  instead  of  reading  the  office  for  the  con- 
secration of  a  virgin,  read  over  her  that  for 
the  ordination  of  a  bishop. 

This  fable  was  invented  for  a  purpose.  As 
we  shall  see  presently,  Bridget  became  head 
of  an  ecclesiastical  tribe,  and  had  under  her 
jurisdiction  a  bishop  who  was  amenable  to  her 
orders.  This  was  a  condition  of  affairs  not 
at  all  uncommon  among  the  British,  Irish,  and 
Scots,  but  it  was  incomprehensible  in  mediaeval 
times  to  those  trained  under  another  system, 
when  bishops  were  sources  of  jurisdiction.  So 
this  story  was  made  up  to  give  some  justifica- 
tion for  the  exercise,  by  the  Abbess  Bridget, 
of  authority  over  a  bishop  and  priests. 

In  the  Life  of  S.  Bridget  we  are  assured 
that  when  she  was  twelve  years  old  she  met 
S.  Patrick,  and  that  she  wove  the  shroud 
in  which  he  was  buried.  According  to  the 
ordinary  computation,  S.  Patrick  came  to  Ireland 
in  432,  and  died  in  465  ;  but  Dr.  Todd 
has   shown    good    reason   to  believe    that    this 


i6o     ube  MvQin  Saints  ant)  /llbatt^rs 

calculation  rests  on  an  error.  Palladius,  whose 
name  was  also  Patricius,  was  sent  to  Ireland 
in  432  by  Pope  Celestine  ;  but  he  failed  in 
his  mission,  abandoned  Ireland,  and  died  at 
Fordun.  Neither  S.  Patrick  himself,  in  his  Con- 
fession, nor  the  earliest  notices  of  him,  say  a 
word  of  his  having  been  sent  by  Celestine,  and 
there  is  reason  to  believe  that  he  really  came 
to  Ireland  in  460,  and  died  in  493.  If  this 
be  the  case,  it  is  quite  possible  that  there  may 
be  truth  in  the  story  of  the  meeting  of  Bridget 
and  the  great  apostle,  and  that  it  was  his 
influence  which  induced  her  to  adopt  the  life 
she  chose.  Bridget  was  now  at  the  head  of 
her  little  community  of  eight  virgins,  and  they 
at  once  devoted  themselves  to  good  works. 

Very  soon  great  numbers  of  pious  women 
came  to  her  from  every  quarter,  entreating 
to  be  received  into  her  community  and  placed 
under  her  direction. 

We  can  see  by  the  brutality  of  Dubtach 
selling  the  mother  of  his  child  to  a  heathen 
Druid,  though  he  himself  professed  to  be  a 
Christian,  and  later,  deliberately  attempting  to 
sell    his    daughter,    that    women    at    that    time 


S.  ifBrtbget  i6i 

were  treated  as  chattels,  and  no  respect  was 
paid  to  them.  It  was  largely  due  to  Bridget 
that  an  immense  revulsion  of  feeling  in  this 
particular  took  place. 

She  travelled  over  Ireland,  and,  wherever 
she  was  able,  planted  those  who  placed  them- 
selves in  her  hands  near  their  own  relatives 
and  in  their  own  country.  She  entered  into 
correspondence  with  the  bishops.  She  was 
warmly  seconded  by  Ere  of  Slane,  by  Mel  of 
Armagh,  and  Ailbe  of  Emly. 

She  managed  to  dot  her  settlements  through 
a  large  portion  of  the  island,  and  they  became 
not  only  hospitals  for  the  sick,  but  nurseries 
of  learning,  for  she  made  a  point  of  having 
the  young  girls  confided  to  her  for  education 
taught  their  letters. 

King  Conall  visited  her  on  his  way  to  make 
a  raid,  and  to  ask  her  benediction  on  his  arms  ; 
"  for/*  said  he,  "  it  is  a  mighty  great  pleasure 
cutting  the  throats  of  our  enemies." 

Bridget  used  all  her  endeavours  to  dissuade 
him  from  an  unprovoked  attack  against  those 
who  were  at  peace  with  him,  but  she  could 
induce  him  to  go  home  only  on  one  condition 

II 


i62     trbe  Dtrgtn  Saints  anb  /llbarti^ts 

— that  she  would  promise  him  her  aid  in  all 
legitimate  wars. 

Somewhat  later  he  was  engaged  in  a  military- 
expedition,  and  it  had  been  successful. 

As  he  was  returning,  very  tired,  with  his 
men,  he  reached  a  dun  or  castle,  and  resolved 
to  rest  there.  His  men  dissuaded  him,  as 
the  enemy  were  in  pursuit.  '*  Bah ! "  said 
Conall,  "  Bridget  has  promised  to  look  after 
me,"  and  he  threw  himself  down  to  sleep. 
A  great  fire  was  lighted,  and  his  men  ranged 
the  heads  of  the  slain  they  had  brought  with 
them  round  the  fire,  and  they  themselves  sat 
up  talking  and  singing.  Meanwhile  the  enemy 
came  on,  but  they  sent  a  spy,  who  crept  un- 
observed up  to  the  walls  and  looked  in.  When 
he  saw  the  dead  faces  with  the  flicker  of  the 
red  fire  on  them,  and  that  Conall's  men  were 
alert,  his  heart  failed  him,  and  he  went  back 
and  told  his  fellows  that  they  must  not  risk 
a  night  attack  on  the  dun. 

Many  touching  stories  are  told  of  Bridget's 
tenderness  to  the  sick  :  of  a  poor  consumptive 
boy  whom  she  nursed  ;  of  a  man  who  carried 
his  mother  on  his  back  for  many  days,  that  he 


might  lay  her  before  Bridget  in  the  hopes  that 
she  might  be  healed  of  the  lung  complaint 
that  afflicted  her. 

One  day — so  says  the  legend — two  lepers 
came  to  her,  and  she  bade  the  one  wash  the 
other.  And  he  who  was  washed  became  whole. 
Then  said  she,  "  Go  and  wash  thy  brother.'* 
'*  Not  I,  forsooth  !  "  replied  the  man.  "  I,  a 
clean  man,  with  sound  skin,  shall  I  scrub  that 
loathsome  object  ^  "  "  Then  I  will  do  it," 
said  Bridget  ;  and  she  took  the  poor  leper  and 
thoroughly  cleansed  him. 

The  truth  of  this  story  would  seem  to 
be  that  Bridget  bade  a  servant  wash  the 
leper,  that  he  refused,  and  she  herself  performed 
the  office. 

But  she  did  more  than  attend  to  the  sick. 
She  saved  the  lives  of  men  condemned  to  death. 
On  one  occasion,  a  cupbearer  to  the  King  of 
Teffia  let  fall  a  valuable  goblet,  and  it  was 
dented.  The  king,  in  a  rage,  ordered  the 
man  to  execution,  though  Bishop  Mel  inter- 
ceded for  him,  but  in  vain  ;  then  Bridget  got 
the  cup,  and,  as  she  had  skilful  smiths  under 
her,  had  the  dents  removed,  so  that  it  presented 


1 64     Ube  IDtrgin  Saints  an^  /flbarti^w 

the  same  appearance  as  before,  and  the  king  was 
then  reluctantly  induced  to  pardon  the  man. 

She  was  for  a  long  time  under  the  direction 
of  Ere  of  Slane,  in  Munster.  Whilst  there,  a 
certain  anchorite,  who  had  made  a  vow  never 
to  look  on  the  face  of  a  woman,  started  with 
his  disciples  to  go  to  one  of  the  Western  Isles, 
there  to  establish  a  community.  His  way  led 
near  where  Bridget  was.  Night  fell,  and  his 
disciples,  not  relishing  spending  the  hours  of 
darkness  on  the  open  waste,  and  supperless, 
begged  him  to  ask  Bridget  to  give  them  food 
and  lodging  for  the  night.  The  old  man 
absolutely  refused.  Bridget  heard  of  this,  and 
when  the  whole  company  was  asleep  she  and 
one  or  two  of  her  maids  went  on  tiptoe  to 
them  and  carried  off  all  their  bundles  of  goods 
and  garments.  When  the  men  woke  next 
morning  everything  was  gone.  Here  was  a 
pretty  kettle  of  fish  !  Most  reluctantly  the 
old  anchorite  was  obliged  to  swallow  his 
objections  and  go  humbly  to  Bridget  and  beg 
for  the  restitution  of  the  packages.  "Very 
well,'*  said  she,  ''  when  I  have  fed  and  housed 
you  for  a  couple  of  days,  you  shall  have  them, — 


s.  Bti^aet  165 

and  do  not  hold  up  your  nose  and  despise 
women  any  more."  So  she  entertained  the 
whole  party,  and  when  they  departed  she 
provided  them  with  a  couple  of  sumpter  horses 
to  carry  their  bundles  for  them.  When  the 
anchorite  arrived  at  the  island  to  which  he 
had  taken  a  fancy,  to  his  dismay  he  found 
that  a  man  lived  on  it  with  his  wife  and 
sons  and  daughters,  and  claimed  it  as  his 
property,  and  absolutely  refused  to  leave. 
The  anchorite  was  forced  to  send  for  Bridget 
to  arrange  terms,  and  she  with  difficulty 
bought  off  the  proprietor.  ''After  all,"  said 
she,  "  you  can't  do  without  the  help  of 
women — for  all  your  foolish  vow." 

When  with  S.  Ere,  she  must  have  been 
in  that  portion  of  King's  County  that 
then  belonged  to  the  kingdom  of  Meath. 
After  that  she  removed  to  ^  Waterford,  and 
remained  for  some  time  at  Kilbride,  near 
Tramore. 

She  heard  that  the  King  of  Munster  had 
a  captive  in  chains  very  harshly  treated.  She 
went  to  his  castle  to  beg  for  the  man's  release, 
but  the  king  was  not  at  home.     However,  the 


1 66     Ube  ViVQin  Saints  an^  /Il>art^r0 

foster-father  and  -mother,  and  foster-brothers 
were  there.  They  could  give  her  no  assistance. 
"  I  will  await  the  king's  return,"  said  Bridget. 
Time  began  to  pass  heavily.  She  looked  round, 
and  saw  that  harps  hung  in  the  hall.  "  Come," 
said  she,  ^'  let  us  have  some  music."  The 
foster-parents  of  the  king  expressed  them- 
selves unwilling  and  incapable.  But  Bridget 
would  take  no  excuse.  Towards  evening  the 
king  returned,  and  as  he  neared  his  hall,  heard 
the  twang  of  harps  and  voices  singing  and 
laughing.  He  came  in  at  the  door,  and  when 
he  saw  his  foster-father  with  a  cracked  voice 
piping  out  an  old  ballad  he  laughed  till  the 
tears  ran  down  his  cheeks.  Every  one  was 
in  good  humour,  and  he  could  not  refuse 
Bridget  her  request. 

Bridget  next  moved  into  Leinster,  apparently 
to  the  district  of  Kinsale.  She  had  not  seen 
her  father  for  some  time,  so  now  she  went 
to  visit  him.  He  was  not  more  amiable  as  he 
advanced  in  years.  With  difficulty  she  with- 
drew from  him  a  servant  maid,  whom  he  was 
thrashing  unmercifully.  When  she  left,  the 
maid  said  to  her,  "  Oh  !  would  to  heaven  you 


S.  Brtb^et  167 

were  always  here,  to  save  us  from  the  master's 
violence  !  " 

She — who  had  been  a  slave-girl  herself — was 
pitiful  to  these  poor  things.  Some  runaway 
slave-girls  took  refuge  with  her,  and  she  had 
hard  work  sometimes  to  reconcile  their  mistresses 
to  leaving  them  under  her  protection. 

Before  she  left  her  father,  the  old  fellow 
asked  her  to  get  the  king  to  let  him  keep 
as  his  own  property  a  sword  the  prince  had 
lent  him.  Bridget  went  to  the  castle.  No 
sooner  had  she  arrived  than  one  of  the  king's 
men  entreated  her  to  take  him  into  her  tribe. 
So  she  asked  the  king  to  give  her  the  man, 
and  give  her  father  the  sword. 

*'  You  ask  a  great  deal,"  said  he.  ''  I  must 
have  something  in  return." 

"  Shall  I  demand  of  God  for  you  Life 
Eternal,  and  a  continuation  of  royalty  in  your 
house .?  " 

"  As  to  Life  Eternal,"  said  the  king,  "  I 
know  nothing  about  it ;  and  as  to  royalty  after 
I  am  dead,  the  boys  of  my  family  must  fight 
for  their  own  crowns.  Give  me  victory  over 
my  enemies.'* 


i68     Zbc  mvgin  Saints  anb  /IBart^tg 

"I  will  obtain  that  for  you,"  she  said.  And 
on  this  being  promised  he  acceded  to  both  her 
requests. 

This  is  a  very  characteristic  story  of  an 
Irish  saint.  The  kings  and  princes  firmly 
believed  that  the  saints  could  give  them  a 
place  in  heaven  and  victory  over  their  foes, 
could  continue  their  line  in  power,  or  deprive 
their  posterity  of  sovereign  rights. 

This  king  was  Illand,  son  of  Dunking.  Soon 
after  this  interview  he  went  into  the  plain  of 
Breagh,  west  of  Dublin,  where  he  fought  the 
Ulster  men  and  defeated  them.  After  this  he 
waged  as  many  as  thirty  battles  in  Ireland,  and 
gained  eight  victories  in  Britain.  He  died  in 
506.  On  his  death  the  clan  of  Niall,  taking 
courage,  gathered  their  forces  to  attack  the 
men  of  Leinster,  who  actually  dug  up  the  body 
of  the  old  king,  set  it  in  a  chariot,  clothed 
in  his  regal  garments,  and  marched  against  the 
men  of  the  north,  headed  by  the  corpse. 

Bridget  now  went  into  Connaught,  and 
founded  an  establishment  there.  It  was  whilst 
there  that  an  incident  characteristic  of  the  times 
occurred. 


S.  Brit)cet  169 

She  had  under  her  charge  a  poor  decrepit 
woman  who  was  failing  rapidly.  "  The  old 
creature  can't  live,"  said  one  of  Bridget's 
women.  "  Let  us  strip  her  at  once.  It  is 
bitter  weather  and  frosty,  and  it  will  be 
awkward  to  get  her  garments  off  her  back 
when  she  is  stiff  and  stark." 

"  On  no  account,"  said  Bridget.  And  when 
the  cripple  died  she  with  her  own  hands 
divested  the  body  of  its  clothing,  then  laid 
the  garments  outside  the  door  in  the  frost,  and 
washed  them  finally  herself. 

Bridget  and  some  of  her  spiritual  daughters 
paid  a  visit  to  S.  Ibar  of  Begery.  He  served 
them  at  supper  with  bacon.  Bridget  saw  two 
of  the  girls  sitting  with  their  platters  before 
them  and  their  noses  turned  up  ;  they  would 
not  touch  the  food.  She  was  very  angry, 
jumped  up  from  her  seat,  caught  them  by 
the  shoulders,  and  turned  them  out  of  the 
hall,  and  bade  them  stand  there,  one  on  each 
side  of  the  door,  till  supper  was  over.  She  had 
run  short  of  seed-corn,  and  had  gone  to  beg 
some  of  Ibar.  The  season  was  probably  Lent, 
and  the  scruple  of  the  girls  was  on  that  account. 


I70     Zbc  DivQin  Saints  anb  /llbarti^rs 

When  S.  Bridget  first  saw  the  great  plain 
of  Breagh  stretched  before  her,  it  was  in  early 
summer,  and  it  was  as  though  snowed  over 
with  the  white  clover,  and  the  air  that  breathed 
from  it  was  sweet  with  scent  and  musical  with 
the  hum  of  bees.  She  stood  still,  raised  her 
hands  in  an  ecstasy  of  delight,  and  said  : 
"  Oh  !  if  this  plain  were  but  mine,  I  would 
give  it  all  to  God  !  " 

"  Good  woman  !  "  said  S.  Columba,  when  he 
was  told  this  of  Bridget.  "  God  accepted  the 
desire  of  her  loving  heart  just  as  surely  as  if 
she  really  had  made  to  Him  the  donation  of 
all  that  land." 

Once  a  bishop  and  a  party  of  clerks  arrived, 
and  began  to  inquire  when  they  were  to  have 
a  meal  and  what  they  were  to  have  to  eat. 

"It  is  all  very  well  for  you  to  be  so 
clamorous,"  said  Bridget,  "  for  you  are  hungry. 
But  can  you  not  understand  that  I  and  my 
spiritual  daughters  are  hungry  also  ?  We  have 
no  religious  teacher  here,  and  we  long  to  hear 
the  Word  of  God.  Will  you  not  give  us  who 
are  hungry  the  nourishment  of  souls  before  you 
call  on  us  to  satisfy  your  stomachs  ?  " 


S.  3Brtbaet  171 

The  bishop  was  ashamed,  and  led  the  way 
to  the  church. 

It  happened  that  there  was  a  couple  who 
led  a  cat-and-dog  life,  and  at  last  declared 
that  they  could  not  live  together,  and  that 
they  would  separate.  Bridget  went  to  them, 
and  by  her  charm  of  manner  and  earnest  words 
so  won  them  over  that  thenceforth  they  came 
to  love  each  other  devotedly.  So  much  so, 
that  one  day  when  the  husband  left  home  to 
cross  an  estuary,  without  saying  good-bye,  the 
wife  ran  after  him  into  the  water,  and  would 
have  been  drowned  had  he  not  returned  to 
kiss  her. 

There  was  a  madman  who  wandered  on 
the  mountain — Slive  Forait.  Bridget  was 
crossing  it,  and  her  companions  were  in 
deadly  fear  of  encountering  the  maniac.  "  I 
fear  him  not,"  said  she  ;  "I  will  go  and 
find  him." 

Before  long  she  encountered  the  poor  wretch. 
She  said  to  him,  "  My  friend,  have  you  any- 
thing to  say  to  me  .^  " 

"  Yes,  nun,"  answered  he  :  "  Love  the  Lord, 
and   all  will  love  thee.     Reverence   the  Lord, 


172     TLbc  WitQin  Saints  an^  /IDart^ts 

and  all  will  reverence  thee.  I  cannot  avoid 
thee,  O  nun,  thou  art  so  pitiful  to  all  the 
miserable  and  poor." 

The  life  she  led  with  the  sisters  was  full 
of  simplicity.  She  took  her  turn  to  tend  the 
sheep,  she  helped  to  brew  the  Easter  ale  which 
she  sent  about  to  the  bishops  as  her  offering. 

The  following  is  a  funny  story. 

Certain  friends  came  to  visit  Bridget,  and 
they  left  their  house  shut  without  a  caretaker 
in  it.  When  they  were  well  away,  some 
robbers  came,  broke  open  the  byre  and  stole 
the  oxen,  and  drove  them  away  to  the  Liffey. 
They  had  to  cross  the  river  at  a  ford,  but 
the  water  was  deep,  so  the  men  stripped  them- 
selves, and  that  their  garments  might  be  kept 
dry,  attached  them  to  the  horns  of  the  cattle. 
But  no  sooner  were  the  oxen  in  the  water 
than  they  refused  to  proceed,  and,  turning, 
galloped  home,  carrying  away  the  clothing  of 
the  robbers  on  their  heads. 

Having  such  large  numbers  of  women  under 
her  direction,  Bridget  was  obliged  to  draw  up 
for  them  a  set  of  rules.  An  odd  legend  attaches 
to  the  rules.      She  sent,  so  it  was  told,  seven 


©♦  BriDget  173 

men  and  a  poor  blind  boy,  who  was  in  her 
service,  to  Rome  to  obtain  a  rule.  But  as 
they  were  crossing  the  English  Channel,  the 
anchor  caught.  They  drew  lots  who  was  to 
go  down  and  release  the  anchor.  The  lot 
fell  to  the  blind  boy.  He  descended,  un- 
hooked the  anchor,  and  it  was  hauled  up, 
but  left  him  behind.  The  seven  went  on, 
and  returned  at  the  end  of  the  year,  and  were 
without  any  rule.  As  they  were  crossing  the 
Channel,  again  the  anchor  caught,  but  it  became 
disengaged,  and  up  with  it  came  the  boy,  and 
he  had  a  Rule  of  Life  with  him,  acquired  in 
the  depths,  and  this  he  took  to  Bridget,  and 
it  became  her  famous  rule  for  all  her  com- 
munities. Perhaps  the  story  originated  thus. 
It  was  said  that  she  had  sent  to  Rome  for  a 
system  of  monastic  discipline,  but  as  none 
came  to  her,  she  fished  up  one  out  of  the 
depths  of  her  own  conscience  and  common- 
sense. 

Bridget  certainly  to  the  utmost  strove  to 
show  forth  the  grace  of  Mercy,  which  she  had 
elected  as  that  for  which  she  would  specially 
strive,  when  she  was  veiled.     Poor  lepers  were 


174     trbe  IDtrgin  Saints  an^  /iDatti^rs 

kept  by  her  attached  to  her  convent,  and  fed 
and  administered  to  by  her. 

One  day  a  woman  brought  her  a  hamper 
of  apples.  "Oh  !  "  cried  Bridget,  "  how  pleased 
my  lepers  will  be  with  them  !  "  The  woman 
angrily  said,  ''  I  brought  the  apples  for  you, 
and  not  for  a  parcel  of  lepers." 

On  another  occasion,  when  Bishop  Conlaeth 
came  to  vest  for  the  Eucharist,  he  found  that 
his  chasuble  was  gone.  In  fact,  Bridget  had 
cut  it  up  and  made  of  it  a  garment  for  a 
leper.  Conlaeth  was  not  overpleased.  "I 
cannot  celebrate  without  a  proper  vestment," 
said  he.  ''  Wait  a  moment,"  said  Bridget, 
and  ran  away.  Presently  she  returned  with  one 
she  had  made  and  embroidered  with  her  own 
hands,  and  gave  it  to  him  in  place  of  that 
she  had  disposed  of  to  the  leper. 

A  poor  fellow  who  had  gone  to  prefer  a  petition 
to  the  King  of  Leinster,  saw  a  fox  playing 
about  in  his  cashel  {i.e.  castle).  Not  knowing 
that  it  was  tame,  and  a  pet  of  the  king,  he 
killed  it.  The  king,  Illand,  was  furious,  threw 
the  fellow  into  chains  and  vowed  he  would 
have   him    put  to  death.     Bridget  heard  of  it, 


S,  3Bri^get  17s 

and  at  once  went  to  see  him,  and  took  with 
her  a  fox  that  had  just  been  trapped.  She 
offered  the  fox  to  lUand,  on  condition  that  he 
should  let  the  man  go.  The  king,  supposing 
it  was  tame,  consented.  No  sooner  was 
the  fellow  released  than  Bridget  let  go  her 
fox,  when  away  dashed  Reynard  across  the 
dun  and  over  the  walls,  and  was  seen  no  more. 
"  I  have  not  got  the  best  of  this  bargain," 
said  the  king. 

In  or  about  the  year  480  she  founded  her 
mother  house  at  Kildare — "  The  Cell  of  the 
Oak."  She  was  granted  land  and  a  sanctuary, 
with  jurisdiction  over  all  who  lived  on  her 
land.  Thus  she  became  a  great  ecclesiastical 
chieftainess,  ruling  not  over  women  only,  but 
over  men  as  well.  Indeed,  it  would  seem  that 
schools  for  youths  were  also  under  her.  To 
regulate  sacred  matters  in  her  tribe,  she  chose 
a  bishop  named  Conlaeth,  who  was  a  good 
smith  in  the  precious  metals,  and  could  manu- 
facture bells. 

In  the  great  house  of  Kildare  little  children 
were  taken  charge  of,  either  because  orphans, 
or  because  given  to  the  sisters  by  their  parents. 


176     Zbc  ViVQin  Saints  an&  /IDart^rs 

Tighernach,  Bishop  of  Clones,  was  one  of 
these.  As  a  babe,  Bridget  held  him  at  the  font, 
and  his  infant  years  were  under  her  care.  He 
ever  remained  deeply  attached  to  her.  Perhaps 
it  may  be  taken  as  a  token  of  his  affection 
that  when  he  founded  a  church  in  Cornwall, 
a  chapel  dedicated  to  his  foster-mother  should 
have  been  planted  in  proximity. 

One  who  deeply  reverenced  her  was  the 
famous  S.  Brendan,  who  sailed  for  seven  years 
on  the  Atlantic  in  quest  of  the  Land  of  Promise. 
Once  he  was  in  conversation  with  her,  and  he 
said  to  her,  "  Tell  me,  Bridget,  about  your 
spiritual  things.  For  my  part  I  may  say  that, 
since  I  have  learned  to  love  and  fear  God, 
I  have  not  stepped  across  nine  furrows  without 
my  mind  turning  to  Him." 

Bridget  thought  for  a  moment  and  said,  "  I 
do  not  think,  Brendan,  that  my  mind  has  ever 
strayed  from  Him." 

As  her  age  advanced,  her  influence  extended 
throughout  Ireland.  Swarms  of  her  spiritual 
children  must  have  crossed  to  Wales,  to  Devon 
and  Cornwall,  to  Brittany,  for  we  find  in  all 
these  districts  dedications   to    her  ;    and    these 


S.  3Bti^9et  177 

dedications  signify  churches  placed  under  the 
rule  of  her  congregation.  It  may  indeed  be 
said  that  it  was  she  who  initiated  a  great 
upheaval  of  woman  from  being  a  mere  slave 
to  become  a  revered  member  of  the  social 
body. 

There  was  no  woman  in  the  British  Church, 
either  in  Wales  or  Alba,  which  we  now  call 
Scotland,  who  occupied  the  same  position.  In 
Saxon  England  the  only  woman  who  at  all 
approached  her  was  S.  Hilda,  and  she  was 
not,  like  Bridget,  an  originator. 

Conlaeth,  Bridget's  bishop,  died  in  519.  She 
was  sought,  consulted  by  princes  and  by  pre- 
lates. The  sour  Gildas,  author  of  the  "  History 
of  the  Britons,"  if  he  did  not  pay  her  a  visit, 
sent  her  as  token  of  his  esteem  the  present 
of  a  small  bell,  cast  by  himself. 

Nothing  particular  is  recorded  of  her  last 
illness.  She  received  the  Communion  from 
the  hands  of  S.  Nennid,  whom  years  before 
she  had  gently  reproved  for  his  giddiness,  and 
she  died  on  February  ist,  525.  According  to 
some  accounts  she  was  aged  seventy,  according 
to  others  seventy-four. 

12 


178     Ube  Witgin  Saints  anb  /iDarti^rs 

There  are  two  old  Irish  hymns  in  honour  of 
her.     One  begins  : 

"  Bridget,  ever  good  woman, 
Flame-golden,  sparkling." 

This  is  variously  attributed  to  S.  Columba, 
S.  Ultan,  and  S.  Brendan.  The  other  hymn 
is  by  S.  Broccan,  who  died  in  650. 

Both  may  be  found  in  the  Irish  '*  Liber 
Hymnorym,"  recently  issued  by  the  ^'  Henry 
Bradshaw  Society." 


X 

rHE    DAUGHTERS    OF    BRIT>GET 


179 


X 

THE    BAUGHtERS    OF    "BRIDGET 

THE  story  of  the  introduction  of  Christianity 
into  Ireland  is  altogether  so  interesting, 
that  it  may  be  well  to  add  something  further 
to  what  has  already  been  told  of  S.  Bridget, 
and  to  the  story  of  S.  Itha.  In  the  evangelis- 
ation of  the  Emerald  Isle,  woman  had  her  place 
beside  man,  and  S.  Bridget  and  S.  Itha  played 
their  part  as  effectually  as  did  S.  Patrick  and 
S.  Benignus. 

Let  us  first  see  what  the  paganism  of  the 
Irish  consisted  in,  and  what  was  their  social 
condition  before  S.  Patrick  preached,  so  that 
we  may  be  able  to  realise  to  some  degree  what 
a  revolution  was  effected  by  the  introduction 
of  the  Gospel. 

The  heathen  Irish  certainly  adored  idols  ; 
one  of  the  principal  of  these  was  Cromm  Cruaich, 

i8i 


1 82     ZDc  tDtrgtn  Saints  ant)  /IDarti^rs 

which  is  said  to  have  been  the  chief  idol  of 
Ireland.  It  is  said  to  have  been  of  gold,  and 
to  have  been  surrounded  by  twelve  lesser  idols 
of  stone.  To  this  Cromm  Cruaich  the  Irish 
were  wont  to  sacrifice  their  children.  There 
still  exists  an  old  poem  that  mentions  this: 

"  Milk  and  corn 
They  sought  of  him  urgently, 
For  a  third  of  their  offspring, 
Great  was  its  horror  and  its  wailing." 

Then  there  were  the  Side  worshipped.  We 
do  not  know  what  these  were,  but  it  is  thought 
that  they  were  the  spirits  of  ancestors.  The 
sun  also  received  adoration,  so  did  wells. 
S.  Patrick  went  to  the  well  of  Slan,  and  there 
he  was  told  that  the  natives  venerated  it  as  a 
god ;  it  was  the  King  of  Waters,  and  they 
believed  that  an  old  dead  failk  or  prophet  lay 
in  it  under  a  great  stone  that  covered  the 
well.  S.  Patrick  moved  the  slab  aside,  and  so 
destroyed  the  sanctity  of  the  well. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  polygamy  existed  : 
Bridget's  father  had  a  wife  in  addition  to 
Brotseach,  her    mother  ;    and    S.    Patrick,    like 


XTbe  Daugbters  of  ISvibQCt         183 

S.  Paul,  had  to  insist  that  those  whom  he 
consecrated  as  bishops  should  be  husbands  of 
one  wife. 

Women  were  in  low  repute  ;  they  were  re- 
quired to  go  into  battle  and  fight  along  with 
the  men,  and  it  was  only  on  the  urgency  of 
Adamnan  in  the  synod  of  Drumceatt,  in 
574,  that  they  were  exempted.  A  man  could 
sell  his  daughter — it  was  so  with  Dubtach  and 
Bridget.  In  the  life  of  S.  Illtyt,  a  Welsh 
Knight,  it  is  told  how  one  stormy  morning, 
when  he  wanted  to  have  his  strayed  horses 
collected,  he  pushed  his  wife  out  of  her  bed 
and  sent  her  without  any  clothes  on  to  drive 
the  horses  together.  There  is  no  doubt  but 
the  Irish  husbands  were  quite  as  brutal. 

There  is  a  very  curious  story  in  the  life 
of  S.  Patrick.  He  was  desirous  of  revisiting 
his  old  master  Miliuc  with  whom  he  had 
been  a  slave  as  a  lad,  and  from  whom  he  had 
run  away.  His  hope  was  to  convert  Miliuc, 
and  to  propitiate  him  with  a  double  ransom. 
But  the  old  heathen,  frightened  at  his  approach, 
and  unwilling  to  receive  him  and  listen  to  his 
Gospel,    burned    himself    alive    in    his    house 


1 84     tTbe  Dtrgtn  Saints  anb  /lliart^s 

with  all  his  substance.  This  seems  to  point 
to  the  Indian  Dharna  having  been  customary 
in  Ireland. 

When  S.  Patrick  converted  the  Irish  he 
dealt  very  gently  with  such  of  their  customs 
as  were  harmless.  The  wells  they  so  reverenced 
he  converted  into  baptisteries,  and  the  pillar- 
stones  they  venerated  he  rendered  less  objection- 
able by  cutting  crosses  on  them.  The  Druids 
wore  white  raiment,  and  had  their  heads 
tonsured  ;  he  made  his  clergy  adopt  both  the 
white  habit  and  the  tonsure. 

The  oak  was  an  object  of  reverence,  and 
S.  Bridget  set  up  her  cell  under  an  ancient 
oak.  She  did  not  cut  it  down,  and  when 
people  came  on  pilgrimage  to  it,  taught  them 
of  Christ,  from  under  its  leafy  boughs. 

There  was  another  relic  of  paganism  that 
was  not  ruthlessly  rejected.  The  ancient  Irish 
venerated  fire.  Now,  in  Ireland,  where  the 
atmosphere  is  so  charged  with  moisture,  it  is 
not  easy  to  procure  fire  by  rubbing  sticks 
together,  as  it  would  be  in  Italy  or  Africa. 
Consequently  it  was  a  matter  of  extreme  im- 
portance   that    fires    should    not  be  allowed  to 


XTbe  Daugbters  ot  3Brtt)get         185 

be  extinguished.  It  was  the  custom  among  the 
early  Latins  that  there  should  be  in  every 
village  a  circular  hut  in  which  the  fire  was 
kept  ever  burning,  and  the  unmarried  girls 
were  expected  and  obliged  to  attend  to  it  ;  and 
if  by  the  fault  of  any  it  became  extinguished, 
then  her  life  was  forfeit. 

As  the  Romans  became  more  civilised,  the 
central  hut  was  called  the  Temple  of  Vesta, 
or  Hestia, — the  Hearth-fire ;  and  a  certain 
number  of  virgins  was  chosen,  and  invested 
with  great  privileges,  whose  duty  it  was  never 
to  allow  it  to  die  out. 

Now,  it  was  much  the  same  in  Ireland,  and 
it  was  more  important  there  to  keep  fire  always 
burning,  than  it  was  in  the  drier  air  of  Italy. 
S.  Bridget  undertook  that  she  and  her  nuns 
should  keep  the  sacred  fire  from  extinction, 
and  Kildare  became  the  centre  from  which  fire 
could  always  be  procured.  The  fire  was  twice 
extinguished,  once  by  the  Normans  and  again 
at  the  Reformation,  finally. 

The  monastery  of  Kildare  had  a  les  about 
it — that  is  to  say,  it  was  enclosed  within  a 
bank  and  moat ;  the  buildings  were,  however, 


1 86     Ube  IDlrgin  Saints  anb  /Il>atti5rs 

of  wood  and  wattle.  This  we  know  from  a 
story  in  the  Life  of  S.  Bridget.  When  she 
was  about  laying  out  her  monastery,  a  hundred 
horses  arrived  laden  with  "  peeled  rods,"  for 
Ailill,  son  of  that  very  prince  Dunlaing  who 
had  refused  to  buy  her  when  he  found  she 
had  given  away  her  father's  sword.  Some  of 
the  girls  ran  to  beg  for  the  poles,  but  were 
refused.  As,  however,  some  of  the  horses  fell 
down  under  their  burdens,  which  were  excessive, 
Ailill  gave  way  and  suppHed  them  with  stakes 
and  wattles.  He  very  good-naturedly  allowed 
his  horses  to  bring  to  Bridget  as  many  more  as 
were  required,  free  of  cost.  "  And,"  says  the 
writer,  "  therewith  was  built  S.  Bridget's  great 
house  in  Kildare." 

All  the  sisters  wore  white  flannel  habits, 
and  on  their  heads  white  veils.  Each  had 
her  own  cell,  but  all  met  for  Divine  worship 
and  for  meals.  During  the  latter,  Bridget's 
bishop  Conlaeth  read  aloud  to  them. 

Bridget  travelled  about  a  great  deal,  visiting 
her  several  communities,  in  a  car  or  chariot ; 
and  her  driver  was  at  her  desire  ordained  priest, 
so  that  as  she  sat  in  her  conveyance,  he  could 


tEbe  Bauflbtets  of  Bridget         187 

turn  his  head  over  his  shoulder  and  preach 
to  her  and  the  sisters  with  her.  One  day 
Bridget  said  :  "  This  is  inconvenient.  Turn 
bodily  about,  that  we  may  hear  you  the  better, 
and  as  for  the  reins,  throw  them  down.  The 
horses  will  jog  along." 

So  he  cast  the  reins  over  the  front  of  the 
chariot,  and  addressed  his  discourse  to  them 
with  his  back  to  the  horses.  Unhappily,  one 
of  these  latter  took  advantage  of  the  occasion, 
and  slipped  its  neck  from  the  yoke,  and  ran 
free  ;  and  so  engrossed  were  Bridget  and  her 
companion  in  the  sermon  of  the  priestly  coach- 
man, that  they  discovered  nothing  till  they 
were  nearly  upset. 

On  another  occasion,  she  and  one  of  her 
nuns  were  being  driven  over  a  common  near 
the  LiiFey,  when  they  came  to  a  long  hedge,  for 
a  man  had  enclosed  a  portion  of  the  common. 
But  Bridget's  driver  had  no  relish  for  such 
encroachments,  and  determined  to  assert  his 
"right  of  way,"  so  he  prepared  to  drive  over 
the  hedge.  Bridget  told  him  to  go  round, 
but  not  he — he  would  assert  his  right.  Over 
went    the    chariot    with    such    a   bounce,    that 


1 88     trbe  IDtrgin  Saints  anb  /iftarti^ra 

away  flew  the  coachman,  Bridget,  and  her  nun, 
like  rockets  ;  and  when  they  picked  themselves 
up  were  all  badly  bruised,  and  Bridget's  head 
was  cut  open.  She  had  it  bound  up,  and 
continued  her  journey.  When  she  got  home 
she  consulted  her  physician,  who  with  shrewd 
sense  said,  "  Leave  it  alone.  Nature  is  your 
best  doctor." 

In  the  "  Book  of  Leinster,"  compiled  in 
the  twelfth  century,  is  a  list  of  saintly  virgins 
who  were  trained  under  S.  Bridget.  It  is, 
however,  by  no  means  complete.  A  few  words 
shall  be  devoted  to  some  of  them.  One,  very 
young,  had  been  committed  to  Bridget  when 
quite  a  child.  Her  name  was  Darlugdach. 
She  slept  with  Bridget,  her  foster-mother. 
Now,  as  she  grew  to  be  a  big  girl,  she 
became  restive,  and  impatient  of  the  restraints 
of  the  convent  life  at  Kildare,  and  she  had 
formed  a  plan  with  another  to  run  away. 

The  night"  on  which  she  had  resolved  on 
leaving  the  monastery  she  was,  as  usual,  sleep- 
ing in  the  same  bed  with  Bridget  ;  and  she 
laid  herself  in  her  bosom,  her  heart  fluttering 
with  excitement,  and  with  her  mind  at  conflict 


Hbe  Baugbters  ot  Brtbaet         189 

between  love  of  her  foster-mother   and  desire 
to  be  out  and  free  as  a  bird. 

At  last  she  rose,  and  in  an  agony  of  uncer- 
tainty cast  herself  on  her  knees,  and  besought 
God  to  strengthen  her  to  remain  where  she 
knew  she  would  be  safe.  Then,  in  the  vehe- 
mence of  her  resolve,  she  thrust  her  naked 
feet  before  the  red  coals  that  glowed  on  the 
hearth,  and  held  them  there  till  she  could 
bear  it  no  longer,  and  limped  back  to  bed, 
and  nestled  again  into  the  bosom  of  the  holy 
mother. 

When  morning  broke,  Bridget  rose,  and 
looked  at  the  scorched  soles  of  Darlugdach,  and 
touching  them  said  gently,  "  I  was  not  asleep, 
my  darling  child.  I  was  awake  and  aware  of 
your  struggle,  but  I  allowed  you  to  fight  it 
out  bravely  by  yourself.  Now  that  you  have 
conquered,  you  need  not  fear  this  temptation 
again.'* 

Darlugdach,  when  S.  Bridget  was  dying, 
clung  to  her,  in  floods  of  tears,  and  entreated 
her  spiritual  mother  to  allow  her  to  die  with 
her.  But  S.  Bridget  promised  that  she  should 
follow  speedily — but    not    yet.      Now,   on  the 


I90     Zbc  IDitGtn  Saints  anb  /IDartigrs 

very  anniversary  of  S.  Bridget's  departure,  next 
year,   Darlugdach   fell  ill  of  a  fever  and  died. 

Another  of  Bridget's  nuns  was  named  Dara, 
who  was  blind — indeed,  had  been  born  without 
sight. 

One  evening  Bridget  and  Dara  sat  together 
and  talked  all  night  of  the  joys  of  Paradise. 
And  their  hearts  were  so  full  that  the  hours 
of  darkness  passed  without  their  being  aware 
how  time  sped  ;  and  lo  !  above  the  Wicklow 
mountains  rose  the  golden  sun,  and  in  the 
glorious  light  the  sky  flashed,  and  the  river 
glittered,  and  all  creation  awoke.  Then  Bridget 
sighed,  because  she  knew  that  Dara's  eyes  were 
closed  to  all  this  beauty.  So — the  legend  tells — 
she  bowed  her  head  in  prayer  ;  and  presently 
God  wrought  a  great  miracle,  for  the  eyes  of 
the  blind  woman  opened,  and  she  saw  the 
golden  ball  in  the  east,  and  the  purple  moun- 
tains, the  trees,  and  the  flowers  glittering  in 
the  morning  dew.  She  cried  out  with  delight. 
Now  for  the  first  time  she — 

"  Saw  a  bush  of  flowering  elder, 
And  dog-daisies  in  its  shade, 
Tufted  meadow-sweet  entangled 
In  a  blushing  wild-rose  braid. 


TL\)c  Daugbters  ot  Mti^Qct         191 

"Saw  a  distant  sheet  of  water 
Flashing  like  a  fallen  sun ; 
Saw  the  winking  of  the  ripples 
Where  the  mountain  torrents  run. 

"  Saw  the  peaceful  arch  of  heaven, 
With  a  cloudlet  on  the  blue, 
Like  a  white  bird  winging  homeward 
With  its  feathers  drenched  in  dew." 

Then  Dara  tried  to  lift  up  her  heart  to 
God  in  thanksgiving  ;  but  her  attention  was 
distracted, — now  it  was  a  bird,  then  a  flower, 
then  a  change  in  the  light, — and  she  could  not 
fix  her  mind  on  God.  Then  a  sadness  came 
upon  her,  and  she  cried — 

"  '  O  my  Saviour  ! ' 
With  a  sudden  grief  oppressed, — 
*  Be  Thy  will,  not  mine,  accomplished ; 
Give  me  what  Thou  deemest  best.' 

"  Then  once  more  the  clouds  descended. 
And  the  eyes  again  waxed  dark ; 
All  the  splendour  of  the  sunlight 
Faded  to  a  dying  spark. 

"  But  the  closed  heart  expanded 

Like  the  flower  that  blooms  at  night 
Whilst,  as  Philomel,  the  spirit 
Chanted  to  the  waning  light." 


192     XLDc  VixQin  Saints  an^  /llbart^rs 

Again,  another  of  Bridget's  nuns  was  Brun- 
seach  ;  she,  however,  went,  probably  on  Bridget's 
death,  to  a  reUgious  house  that  had  been 
founded  by  S.  Kieran  of  Saighir,  over  which 
he  had  set  his  mother,  Liadhain. 

She  was  young  and  beautiful,  and  Dioma, 
the  chief  of  the  country  of  the  Hy  Fiachach, 
came  by  violence  and  carried  her  off  to  his 
^un  or  castle. 

Kieran  was  angry,  and  at  once  seizing  his 
staff,  went  to  the  residence  of  the  prince,  and 
demanded  that  she  should  be  surrendered  to 
him.  The  chief  shut  his  gates  and  refused 
to  admit  the  saint.  Kieran  remained  outside, 
although  it  was  winter,  and  declared  he  would 
not  return  without  her. 

During  the  night  there  was  a  heavy  fall 
of  snow,  but  the  saint  would  not  leave.  Then 
Dioma,  taunting  him,  said,  "  Come,  I  will  let 
her  go  on  one  condition,  that  to-morrow  I 
hear  the  stork,  and  that  he  awake  me  from 
sleep." 

And  actually  next  morning  there  was  a 
stork  perched  on  the  palisade  of  the  dun, 
and  was  uttering  its  peculiar  cries.     The  tyrant 


Ube  Daugbters  of  :Brlt)get         193 

arose  in  alarm,  threw  himself  before  the  saint, 
and  dismissed  the  damsel. 

However,  he  had  quailed  only  for  a  while, 
and  presently  renewed  his  persecution.  Brun- 
seach,  according  to  the  legend,  died  of  fright, 
but  was  brought  to  life  again  by  S.  Kieran — 
that  is  to  say,  she  fainted  and  was  revived. 

The  story  is  late,  and  has  become  invested 
in  fable ;  but  so  much  of  it  is  true,  that 
Brunseach  was  carried  off  by  Dioma,  and  that 
Kieran  managed  to  get  her  restored. 

It  was  perhaps  through  the  annoyance  caused 
by  the  prince  that  he  resolved  to  leave  Ireland. 
He  settled  in  Cornwall.  But  he  had  taken 
with  him  his  old  nurse  and  Brunseach,  and 
he  found  for  them  suitable  habitations  there. 
Kieran  himself  was  there  called  Piran,  and  he 
founded  several  churches.  That  of  his  nurse 
in  the  Cornish  peninsula  is  Ladock,  and  Brun- 
seach is  known  there  as  S.   Buriana. 

"  Nothing  has  been  recorded  of  her  life  and 
labours  in  Cornwall,  except  the  general  tradi- 
tion that  she  spent  her  days  in  good  works 
and  great  sanctity  ;  but  the  place  where  she 
dwelt  was  regarded  as  holy  ground  for  centuries, 

13 


194     trbe  IDtrgtn  Saints  an^  /IDart^rs 

and  can  still  be  pointed  out.  It  lies  about  a 
mile  south-east  of  the  parish  church  which 
bears  her  name,  beside  a  rivulet  on  the  farm 
of  Bosleven  ;  and  the  spot  is  called  the  Sentry, 
or  Sanctuary.  The  crumbling  ruins  of  an 
ancient  structure  still  remain  there,  and  traces 
of  extensive  foundations  have  been  found 
adjoining  them.  If  not  the  actual  ruins,  they 
probably  occupy  the  site  of  the  oratory  in  which 
Athelstan,  after  vanquishing  the  Cornish  king, 
knelt  at  the  shrine  of  the  saint,  and  made  his 
memorable  vow  that,  if  God  would  crown  his 
expedition  to  the  Scilly  Isles  with  success,  he 
would  on  his  return  build  and  endow  there 
a  church  and  college  in  token  of  his  gratitude, 
and  in  memory  of  his  victories. 

"It  was  on  that  wild  headland,  about  four 
miles  from  Land's  End,  that  S.  Buriana  took 
up  her  abode  ;  and  a  group  of  saints  from 
Ireland,  who  were  probably  her  friends  and 
companions,  and  who  seem  to  have  landed  on 
our  shores  at  the  same  time,  occupied  contiguous 
parts  of  the  same  district.  There  she  watched 
and  prayed  with  such  devotion,  that  the  fame 
of  her    goodness    found    its  way  back   to  her 


trbe  Daugbters  of  Bridget         195 

native  land  ;  and  thenceforth  Brunseach  the 
Slender,  by  which  designation  she  had  been 
known  there,  was  enrolled  in  the  catalogue 
of  the  Irish  saints  ;  but  her  Christian  zeal  was 
spent  in  the  Cornish  parish  that  perpetuates 
her  name."  ^ 

Bridget  had  two  disciples  of  the  name  of 
Brig  or  Briga.  This  was  by  no  means  an 
uncommon  name.  A  sister  of  S.  Brendan 
was  so  called. 

Another  was  Kiara,  and  this  virgin  we 
perhaps  meet  with  again  in  Cornwall  as  Piala, 
the  sister  of  Fingar.  Amongst  the  Welsh 
and  Cornish  the  hard  sound  K  became  P,  thus 
Ken  (head),  was  pronounced  Pen  ;  so  S.  Kieran 
became  Piran. 

Fingar  and  his  sister  formed  a  part  of  a 
great  colony  of  emigrants  who  started  for 
Cornwall.  Fingar  had  settled  in  Brittany, 
but  he  returned  to  Ireland  and  persuaded  his 
sister  to  leave  the  country  with  him.  This 
she  was  the  more  inclined  to  do  as  she  was 
being    forced    into    marriage    in    spite    of    her 

*  Adams,  "  Chronicles  of  Cornish  Saints,"  in  the  Journal 
of  the  Royal  InstiUUion  of  Cornwall,  1873. 


196     Ube  WvQin  Saints  anb  /iDartprs 

monastic  vows.  They  left  Ireland  with  the 
intention  of  going  back  to  Brittany,  but  were 
carried  by  adverse  winds  to  Cornwall,  and 
landed  at  Hayle. 

King  Tewdrig,  who  had  a  palace  hard  by, 
did  not  relish  the  arrival  of  a  host  of  Irish, 
and  he  set  upon  them  and  massacred  most  of 
them.  Kiara,  however,  was  not  molested, 
though  her  brother  was  killed.  She  settled 
where  is  now  the  parish  church  of  Phillack. 
The  scene  of  her  brother's  martyrdom  was 
Gwynear,  hard  by.  She  probably  did  not  care 
to  leave  the  proximity  to  his  grave  ;  she  had 
no  one  to  go  with  to  Armorica,  and  it  seems 
likely  that  a  larger  body  of  Irish  came  over 
shortly  after,  occupied  all  the  west  part  of 
Cornwall,  and  so  made  her  condition  more 
tolerable. 


XI 

S.    irHA 


197 


S.   ITHA 


XI 

S.   ITHA 

WHAT  Bridget  was  for  Leinster,  that 
was  Itha  or  Ita  for  Munster  ;  and  from 
the  way  in  which  her  cult  spread  through 
Devon  and  Cornwall,  we  are  led  to  suspect 
that  there  were  a  good  many  religious  houses 
and  churches  in  the  ancient  kingdom  of  Dam- 
nonia  that  were  under  her  rule,  and  looked  to 
Killeedy  in  Limerick  as  their  mother-house. 

S.  Itha  was  a  shoot  of  the  royal  family  of  the 
Nandesi,  in  the  present  county  of  Waterford. 
Her  father's  name  was  Kennfoelad,  and  her 
mother's  was  Nect.  They  were  Christians,  as 
appears  from  the  fact  of  S.  Itha  having  been 
baptised  in  childhood. 

She    was    born    about  480,   and  probably  at 

an  early  date  received  the  veil  "  in  the  Church 

of  God  of  the  clan." 

199 


»oo     XTbe  IDir^in  Saints  anb  /iDart^rs 

Unfortunately  we  have  not  the  life  of  S.  Itha 
in  a  very  early  form  ;  it  comes  to  us  sadly 
corrupted  with  late  fables  foisted  in  to  magnify 
the  miraculous  powers  of  the  saint. 

She  moved  to  the  foot  of  Mount  Luachra, 
in  Hy  Conaill,  and  founded  the  monastery  of 
Cluain  Credhuil,  now  Killeedy,  in  a  wild  and 
solitary  region,  backed  by  the  mountains  of 
Mullaghareirk,  and  on  a  stream  that  is  a  con- 
fluent of  the  Deel,  which  falls  into  the  Shannon 
at  Askaton. 

The  chief  of  the  clan  or  sept  of  Hy  Conaill 
oflfered  her  a  considerable  tract  of  land  for 
the  support  of  her  establishment,  but  she  re- 
fused to  receive  more  than  was  sufficient  for 
a  modest  garden. 

Let  us  try  to  get  some  idea  of  what  one  of 
these  monasteries  was  Hke. 

In  the  first  place  a  ditch  and  a  bank  were 
drawn  round  the  space  that  was  to  be  occu- 
pied, and  the  summit  of  the  bank  was  further 
protected  by  a  palisade  of  stakes  with  osier 
wattling.  In  such  places  as  were  stony,  and 
where,  no  earthwork  could  well  be  made,  in 
place  of  a  bank,  there  was  a  wall. 


S»  5tba  20I 

Within  the  enclosure  were  a  number  of  bee- 
hive-shaped cells,  either  of  wattle  or  of  stone 
and  turf.  Certainly  the  favourite  style  of 
building  was  with  wood  ;  but  of  course  all 
such  wooden  structures  have  perished,  whereas 
some  of  those  of  stone  have  been  preserved. 
There  were  churches,  apparently  small,  and 
a  refectory,  bakehouses,  and  a  brewery  and 
storehouses. 

Outside  the  defensive  wall  of  enclosure  lived 
the  retainers  of  the  abbey.  Where  an  abbot 
or  abbess  was  head  of  an  ecclesiastical  tribe, 
he  or  she  was  bound  to  find  land  for  each 
household  :  nine  furrows  of  arable  land,  nine 
of  bog,  nine  of  grass-land,  and  as  much  of 
forest.  As  the  population  increased,  a  secular 
or  an  ecclesiastical  chief  was  obliged  to  obtain  an 
extension  of  territory,  or  would  be  held  to  have 
forfeited  his  claims  as  a  chief  This  led  to  in- 
cessant feud  among  the  Celtic  princes  ;  it  forced 
the  saints  to  be  continually  striving  to  obtain 
fresh  grants  of  land  and  make  fresh  settlements. 
When  there  was  no  more  chance  of  obtaining 
land  in  Ireland,  they  sent  swarms  to  Britain 
and  to  Brittany,  to  found  colonies  there,  under 


202     Ubc  WvQin  Saints  an^  /TOart^ts 

the  jurisdiction  of  the  saint.  This  explains  the 
way  in  which  the  Celtic  saints  were  incessantly 
moving  about.  They  were  forced  to  do  so 
to  extend  their  lands  so  as  to  find  farms  for 
their  vassals. 

A  very  terrible  story  is  told  of  the  condition 
of  affairs  in  Ireland  in  657.  The  population 
of  the  island  had  increased  to  such  an  extent 
that  the  chiefs  could  not  find  land  enough  for 
the  people.  Dermot  and  Blaithmac,  the  kings, 
summoned  an  assembly  of  clergy  and  nobles 
to  discuss  the  situation  and  consider  a  remedy. 
They  concluded  that  the  '*  elders  "  should  put 
up  prayer  to  the  Almighty  to  send  a  pestilence, 
"  to  reduce  the  number  of  the  lower  class,  that 
the  rest  might  live  in  comfort."  S.  Fechin 
of  Fore,  on  being  consulted,  approved  of  this 
extraordinary  petition.  And  the  prayer  was 
answered  from  heaven,  but  the  vengeance  of 
God  fell  mainly  on  the  nobles  and  clergy,  for 
the  Yellow  Plague  which  ensued,  which  swept 
away  at  least  a  third  of  the  population,  fell 
with  special  heaviness  on  the  nobles  and  clergy, 
of  whom  multitudes,  including  the  two  kings 
and  S.  Fechin  of  Fore,  were  carried  off. 


S.  3tba  203 

S.  Itha  does  not  seem  to  have  coveted  land, 
and  she  assumed  a  different  position  from  that 
taken  by  S.  Bridget.  She  was  not  an  inde- 
pendent chieftainess  over  a  sacred  tribe,  but 
acted  as  prophetess  to  the  secular  tribe  of  the 
Hy  Conaill.  Just  as  among  the  Germans, 
the  warriors  had  their  wise  women  who  attended 
the  tribe,  blessed  the  arms  of  the  warriors,  and 
uttered  oracles,  so  was  it  among  the  Celts  ; 
and  we  are  assured  that  the  entire  sept,  or 
clan,  unanimously  adopted  S.  Itha  as  their 
religious  directress  and,  in  fact,  wise  woman. 
In  such  cases,  when  a  prophecy  came  true, 
when  a  military  undertaking  blessed  by  the 
Saint  proved  successful,  the  usage  was,  that  an 
award  was  made  in  perpetuity  to  him  or  to 
her,  a  tax  imposed  that  must  be  paid  regularly 
by  the  tribe. 

Thus  there  were  two  ways  by  which  a  Celtic 
saint  might  subsist — either  as  an  independent 
chieftain  over  a  sacred  tribe,  or  as  the  patroness 
or  prophetess  of  a  tribe,  not  owning  much 
land,  but  drawing  a  revenue  from  the  sept 
or  clan. 

We  have  a  very  curious  illustration  of  this 


204     Ubc  \OivQin  Saints  an^  /II>art^t6 

in  the  life  of  S.  Findcua,  who  was  the  great 
seer  and  prophet  of  Munster.  He  blessed 
the  arms  of  the  king  seven  times  in  as  many 
battles,  and  was  rewarded  for  each  ;  he  received 
tribute  in  this  wise  :  "  The  first  calf,  and  the 
first  lamb,  and  the  first  pig,"  from  every  farm 
for  ever.  "  For  every  homestead  a  sack  of 
malt,  with  a  corresponding  supply  of  food 
yearly." 

Now  there  is  not  a  trace  of  S.  Itha  having 
allowed  herself  on  any  occasion  to  degrade 
herself  to  blessing  and  cursing,  blessing  the 
arms  of  the  Leinster  men  and  covering  their 
foes  with  imprecations.  She  succeeded  in  in- 
spiring the  whole  of  the  people  with  such 
reverence,  that  they  were  ready  to  receive  what 
she  declared  as  a  message  from  God,  and  she 
used  this  position  for  no  other  object  than 
that  of  advancing  God's  kingdom,  stirring  up 
to  good  works,  encouraging  peace,  and  restrain- 
ing violence.  She  showed  no  eagerness  for 
gifts.  On  one  occasion  a  wealthy  man,  to 
whom  she  had  rendered  a  service,  insisted  on 
forcing  money  on  her.  She  at  once  withdrew 
her  hand,   absolutely  refused  it,  and   to   show 


S.  Jtba  205 

him  her  determination,  washed  her  hands  that, 
she  said,  had  been  defiled  by  contact  with 
his  filthy  lucre.  God's  gifts  were  not  to  be 
traded  with,  and  profit  must  not  be  made  out 
of  an  office  such  as  that  filled  by  her. 

Parents,  desirous  of  having  their  children 
brought  up  to  the  ecclesiastical  state,  committed 
them  to  her  ;  and  thus  she  became  the  foster- 
mother  of  S.  Pulcherius  or  Mochoemoc,  of 
S.  Cumine,  and  S.  Brendan.  The  latter  was 
committed  to  her  when  one  year  old,  and  she 
kept  him  with  her  till  he  was  five.  Through- 
out his  life  Brendan  retained  not  merely  the 
tenderest  love  for  Itha,  but  such  a  reverence 
that  he  consulted  her  in  all  matters  of  im- 
portance. 

One  day  Brendan  asked  her  what  three 
works  were,  in  her  opinion,  most  well-pleasing 
to  God.  She  replied,  "  Faith  out  of  a  pure 
heart,  sincerity  of  life,  and  tender  charity." 

"  And  what,"  further  asked  Brendan,  *^  what 
are  most  displeasing  to  God  ?  " 

"  A  spiteful  tongue,  a  love  of  what  smacks 
of  evil,  and  avarice,"   was  her  ready  reply. 

Brendan,   as  a  little  fellow,  was  the  pet  of 


2o6     tlbe  VivQin  Saints  anb  /iDartprs 

the  community,  and  all  the  sisters  loved  to 
have  him  and  dance  him  in  their  arms.  In 
the  life  of  S.  Brendan  is  inserted  a  snatch  from 
an  older  Irish  ballad  concerning  him  : 

"Angels  in  shape  of  virgins  white 
This  little  babe  did  tend. 
From  hand  to  hand,  fair  forms  of  light, 
Sweet  faces  o'er  him  bend." 

S.  Ere,  Bishop  of  Slane,  seems  to  have  been 
Itha's  principal  adviser  and  friend  ;  and  when 
the  five  years  of  Brendan^s  fostering  were  over, 
Ere  took  the  little  boy  away  to  teach  him 
the  Psalms  and  the  Gospels.  S.  Ere  found  it 
rather  hard  to  keep  the  boy  supplied  with 
milk,  but  a  hind  with  her  fawn,  so  says  the 
legend,  was  caught,  and  gave  her  milk  to 
Brendan. 

It  may  be  asked,  What  was  the  mode  of  life 
of  the  community  of  S.  Itha  ? 

Unhappily  we  do  not  know  so  much  of  that 
of  the  religious  women  as  we  do  of  that  of 
the  monasteries  of  men,  yet  we  cannot  doubt 
that  the  rule  of  the  house  for  women  much 
resembled    that    in    the    others.      Here    is    an 


account  of  the  order  as  given  in  the  life  of 
S.  Brioc,  an  Irishman  by  race,  though  born  in 
Cardigan. 

"  At  fixed  hours  they  all  assembled  in  the 
church  to  celebrate  divine  worship.  After  the 
office  of  vespers  (6  p.m.)  they  refreshed  their 
bodies  by  a  common  meal.  Then,  having  said 
compline,  they  dispersed  in  silence  to  their  beds. 
At  midnight  they  rose  and  assembled  to  sing 
devoutly  psalms  and  hymns  to  the  glory  of 
God.  Then  they  returned  to  their  beds.  But 
at  cockcrow,  at  the  sound  of  the  bell,  they 
sprang  from  their  couches  to  sing  lauds.  From 
the  conclusion  of  this  office  to  the  second  hour 
(8  a.m.)  they  were  engaged  in  spiritual  exer- 
cises and  prayer.  Then  they  cheerfully  betook 
them  to  manual  labour." 

Happily  one  of  the  monastic  offices  of  the 
early  Irish  Church  has  been  deciphered  from  a 
nearly  obliterated  leaf  of  the  Irish  MS.  Book  of 
Mulling  :  it  consisted  of  the  Magnificat.  What 
preceded  this  is  illegible  :  some  verses  of  a  hymn  ; 
the  reading  of  the  Beatitudes  from  the  Sermon 
on  the  Mount,  a  hymn  of  S.  Secundinus,  a  com- 
memoration of  S.  Patrick,  a  portion  of  a  hymn 


2o8     TLbc  VivQin  Salute  an^  /IDart^re 

by  S.  Hilary  of  Poitiers,  the  Apostles'  Creed, 
the  Lord's  prayer,  and  a  collect. 

The  work  of  the  day  consisted  in  teaching 
the  young  girls  their  letters,  in  needlework, 
tending  the  cattle — in  which  each,  abbess  in- 
cluded, took  turn — grinding  corn  in  the  hand- 
mill,  and  cultivating  the  garden. 

Numerous  visitors  arrived  to  consult  S.  Itha, 
and  she  most  certainly  had  fixed  hours  in  which 
to  receive  them. 

One  striking  instance  of  the  veneration  in 
which  she  was  held  is  that  S.  Coemgen  of 
Glendalough,  when  dying,  sent  to  entreat  her 
to  come  to  him  ;  he  would  have  no  one  else 
minister  to  him  in  his  last  sickness,  and  he 
begged  her,  when  he  expired  to  place  her  hand 
over  his  mouth  and  close  it. 

One  Beoan  was  a  famous  artificer  ;  he  was 
a  native  of  Connaught.  He  went  to  Itha  and 
passed  into  her  service  ;  but  was  summoned  by 
his  military  chief  to  attend  him  in  one  of  his 
raids.  He  departed  most  reluctantly.  Itha  was 
greatly  distressed  at  losing  him.  As  he  did 
not  return  after  a  skirmish,  she  went  to  the 
scene  of  the  encounter,  and  found  him  gricv- 


S.  Jtba  209 

ously  wounded,  but  still  living.  Under  her 
fostering  care  he  recovered.  According  to  late 
legend,  his  head  had  been  cut  off  and  thrown 
away.  She  found  his  body  but  not  his  head, 
so  she  called  "  Beoan  !  Beoan  !  "  Whereupon 
the  head  came  flying  through  the  air  to  her, 
and  she  set  it  on  again.  So  a  very  simple 
transaction  was  magnified  into  a  ridiculous 
fable. 

After  leaving  her,  S.  Brendan  went  about 
with  Bishop  Ere  in  his  waggon,  from  which  the 
bishop  preached  to  the  people.  One  day  when 
Ere  was  addressing  a  crowd,  Brendan  was  in  the 
back  of  the  waggon,  looking  over  the  side,  clearly 
not  attending  to  the  sermon.  Then  a  small, 
fair-haired,  rosy-faced  girl  came  near,  and  seeing 
the  little  fellow  peeping  over  the  side,  she  tried 
to  scramble  up  the  waggon-wheel  to  get  to 
Brendan  and  play  with  him.  But  he  laid  hold 
of  the  reins  and  lashed  her  with  them,  so  that 
she  was  forced  to  desist,  and  fell  back  crying. 
Ere  was  much  annoyed  at  Brendan's  conduct, 
and  sent  him  into  the  black-hole  in  punishment. 

Some  years  later,  Itha.  required  Brendan  to 
come   to  her  :    she  was    in  great    trouble,  and 

14 


2 TO     Zbc  WtQin  Saints  anb  /IDatt^rs 

needed  his  assistance.  He  went  accordingly, 
and  with  many  tears  she  told  him  that  one  of 
her  pupils  had  run  away  some  time  before,  and 
had  fallen  into  very  bad  courses,  which  had 
led  at  last  to  her  being  reduced  to  be  a  slave- 
girl  in  Connaught.  Would  he  go  in  search  of 
her  and  bring  her  back,  with  assurance  that 
everything  would  be  forgiven  and  forgotten  ? 

Brendan  readily  undertook  the  task,  and 
succeeded  in  redeeming  the  girl  and  restoring 
her  to  her  spiritual  mother. 

Now  Brendan  himself  got  into  trouble. 
He  had  gone  with  a  boat  one  day  to  an 
island,  taking  with  him  two  lads,  one  quite 
young.  He  left  one  boy  in  charge  of  the 
boat,  and  advanced  up  the  land  with  the 
other.  Then  this  latter  said  to  him,  "  Master, 
the  tide  will  rise  before  we  get  back,  and 
I  am  sure  my  little  brother  cannot  manage 
the  boat  alone." 

**  Be  silent,"  retorted  Brendan.  "  Do  you 
suppose  that  I  do  not  care  for  him  as  much 
as  you  do  yourself.^ " 

After  a  while  the  young  man  returned  to 
the  matter.     "  I  am  sure,"  said  he,  "it  is  not 


S»  Jtba  211 

safe  to  leave  the  boy  unassisted.  The  current 
runs  very  strong." 

"  Bad  luck  to  you  !  "  said  Brendan,  flaming 
up, — he  was  a  peppery  man, — "  Go  yourself, 
then  ; "  and  the  youth  took  him  at  his  word 
and  found  the  boy  struggling  with  the  boat, 
tide  and  wind  were  driving  from  shore,  and  he 
was  unable  to  control  the  coracle.  The  elder 
ran  into  the  water  to  assist  his  brother,  and 
a  great  wave  swept  him  off^  his  feet  and  he 
was  drowned,  but  the  little  boy  escaped. 

After  this  S.  Brendan  had  no  peace  of 
mind.  He  thought  himself  responsible  for  the 
loss  of  the  youth.  He  had  wished  him  "  Bad 
luck,"  and  bad  luck  indeed  had  fallen  to  him. 

He  went  at  once  to  his  foster-mother,  and 
consulted  her. 

It  is  quite  possible  that  the  relatives  of 
the  drowned  youth  had  taken  the  matter  up, 
and  pursued  Brendan  in  blood-feud.  So  Itha, 
after  mature  consideration,  advised  Brendan  to 
leave  Ireland  for  a  while;  and  in  punishment 
for  his  hastiness,  and  for  having  caused  the 
death  of  the  youth,  she  bade  him  abstain 
from  blood  in  everything. 


212     XTbe  XOiVQin  Saints  anb  /llbart^rs 

So  Brendan  started.  He  went  to  Armorica, 
and  determined  to  visit  Gildas,  the  historian, 
who  was  then  at  his  abbey  of  Rhuys.  Gildas 
was.  a  sour,  ill-tempered  man,  very  hard  ;  and 
when  Brendan  arrived,  it  was  just  after  sun- 
down and  the  gates  of  the  monastery  were 
closed.  He  announced  who  he  was — a  traveller 
from  Ireland — but  Gildas  replied  that  rules  must 
be  kept,  and  it  was  against  his  rule  to  open 
after  set  of  sun,  so  Brendan  was  constrained 
to  spend  the  night  outside  the  gates. 

Thence  he  went  to  Dol,  but  after  a  while, 
and  a  visit  to  S.  David  in  Wales,  he  returned 
to  Ireland,  and  now  Itha  told  him  a  marvellous 
story.  There  was  a  rumour  that  far  away  to 
the  west  beyond  the  horizon  was  a  wondrous 
land  of  beauty.  He  must  not  remain  in 
Ireland :  let  him  put  to  sea,  sail  after  the 
sun  as  it  set,  and  discover  the  mysterious 
land  beyond  the  Atlantic. 

The  imagination  of  Brendan  was  fired  ;  he 
set  to  work  to  construct  three  large  vessels 
of  wickerwork,  and  he  covered  them  with 
skins  ;  each  vessel  contained  thirty  men — some 
were   clergy,    a   good   many   laymen — and   he 


S«  5tba  213 

took  a  fool  with  him,  because  he  begged  hard 
to  be  admitted.  Brendan  was  absent  three  or 
five  years,  it  is  uncertain  which — for  apparently 
the  time  of  his  absence  in  Brittany  is  included 
in  one  of  the  computations. 

Wonderful  stories  are  told  of  what  he  saw 
and  did,  but  no  trust  can  be  put  in  the  nar- 
rative. On  his  return  he  went  to  Itha  to 
report  himself.  She  received  him  with  great 
pleasure,  but  objected  that  he  had  not  literally 
obeyed  her,  for  his  sails  had  been  made  of 
the  skins  of  beasts,  so  had  been  the  covering 
of  his  boats,  and  cattle  had  been  slaughtered 
for  the  purpose,  so  that  he  had  not  wholly 
abstained  from  blood. 

But  it  is  doubtful  whether  this  is  what  she 
really  said.  It  is  probably  the  legend  writer's 
explanation  for  what  follows.  **  Why,'*  asked 
Itha,  *'  should  you  risk  these  lengthy  voyages  in 
such  frail  vessels  as  coracles  made  of  basket- 
work  covered  with  hides  ?  Next  time  build 
boats  of  wood." 

This  was  a  new  idea.  The  Irish,  like  the 
Welsh,  had  hitherto  used  large  coracles,  and 
the    only    wooden    boats    they    had    employed 


214     '^\^c  IDirgtn  Saints  an&  /iDartprs 

were  trunks  of  trees  hollowed  out,  and  these 
only  on  lakes. 

Brendan  at  once  seized  on  the  suggestion, 
and  constructed  ships  of  wood,  which  were 
the  first  ever  built  in  Ireland,  and  these  were 
due  to  the  idea  of  S.  Itha. 

Brendan  made  a  second  voyage  to  the  land 
beyond  the  ocean,  and  it  is  possible  that  he 
may  have  actually  reached  America  ;  but,  as 
already  said,  nothing  trustworthy  has  come  to 
us  of  the  result  of  his  attempts. 

Itha  had  a  brother,  S.  Finan,  and  she  was 
related  to  S.  Senan  of  Achadh-coel. 

Itha  in  her  old  age  was  attacked  by  perhaps 
the  most  terrible  and  painful  disease  to  which 
poor  suffering  mortality  is  subject,  and  it  is 
one  to  which  women  fall  victims  more  often 
than  men.  She  was  attacked  in  her  breast, 
but  endured  her  pains  night  and  day  with 
the  utmost  patience  and  trust  in  God's  mercy. 
Her  nuns  were  affected  to  tears  at  her 
sufferings,  but  she  had  always  a  smile  and 
cheerful  words  on  her  lips  to  banish  ^heir 
discouragement. 

She  died  at  length  on  January  15th,  in  the 


S,  3tba  a  15 

year  569  or  570,  and  was  laid  in  her  church 
of  Cluain  Credhuil,  which  has  since  borne  the 
name  of  Killeedy  or  the  Church  of  Ida. 

She  must  have  been  known  beyond  the 
island  of  Ireland,  for  in  the  Salisbury  Martyr- 
ology  she  is  entered  in  strange  form  as  "  In 
Ireland  the  festival  of  S.  Dorothea,  also  called 
Sith  (S.  Ith)  "  on  January  15th. 

In  Cornwall  a  lofty  and  bare  hill,  that 
commands  the  Atlantic  and  the  coast,  is 
crowned  by  a  great  ruined  camp.  It  had 
belonged  to  the  British,  but  was  wrested  from 
them  and  became  a  stronghold  of  the  Saxons, 
who  held  it  so  as  to  dominate  the  entire  neigh- 
bourhood. This  is  Hellborough,  not  far  from 
Camelford.  It  continued  to  be  a  royal  castle, 
the  property  of  the  Crown,  though  it  does 
not  seem  that  any  mediaeval  castle  was  built 
upon  it.  Now,  curiously  enough,  in  the 
midst  of  this  great  camp  is  a  mound  of  stone 
or  cairn,  and  on  this  cairn  is  a  little  chapel, 
at  present  in  ruins,  dedicated  to  the  saint  whose 
life  has  just  been  given.  And  on  the  river 
Camel,  that  flows  into  the  Padstow  estuary,  is 
a  parish  that  bears  the  name,  though  corrupted 


2i6     Uhc  tDtrgtn  Saints  an^  /Iftartijrs 

into  S.  Issey.  But  near  Exeter  is  a  parish 
church  that  has  her  as  patroness  with  the 
name  unmutilated,  as  S.  Ide. 

How  came  these  dedications  in  Cornwall 
and  Devon  ?  Either  because  S.  Brendan  on 
his  way  home  from  Brittany  founded  the 
churches  in  memory  of  his  dear  foster-mother, 
or  else  because  here  were  colonies  of  holy 
women  from  the  mother-house  in  Limerick. 

In  or  about  6^6  Cuimin  of  Connor  wrote 
the  '*  Characteristics  of  the  Irish  Saints "  in 
metre,  and  this  is  what  he  says  of  Itha :  — 

"My  (dear)  Itha,  much  beloved  of  fosterage, 
Firmly  rooted  in  humility,  but  never  base. 
Laid  not  her  cheek  to  the  ground, 
Ever,  ever  full  of  the  love  of  God." 


XII 
S.    HILDA 


217 


XII 
S.  HILDA 

HILDA  was  born  in  614.  She  was  the 
daughter  of  Hereric,  nephew  of  Edwin, 
king  of  Northumbria. 

Her  childhood  was  darkened  by  the  civil 
wars  that  rent  Northumbria,  at  this  time 
divided  into  two  kingdoms,  each  engaged  in 
fighting  the  other  for  supremacy. 

In  627,  when  aged  thirteen,  she  received 
baptism,  along  with  her  uncle  Edwin,  at  the 
hands  of  S.  Paulinus.  She  lived  thirty-three 
years  in  her  family,  ''  very  nobly,"  says  Bede, 
and  then  resolved  to  dedicate  the  rest  of  her 
life  to  God.  Her  intention  was  to  go  to 
Chelles,  in  France,  for  her  training  ;  and,  for 
this  purpose,  she  went  into  East  Anglia  to  its 
queen,  her  sister. 

She  spent  a  year  in  preparation  for  her  final 

219 


220    Ube  IDirgtn  Saints  anb  /iDartigrs 

exile ;  but  her  purpose  was  frustrated  by  a 
summons  from  S.  Aidan,  the  Apostle  of  North- 
umbrian to  return  to  her  own  country  and 
settle  there.  She  obeyed  at  once,  and  was 
placed  by  Aidan  as  superior  over  a  few  sisters 
in  a  small  monastic  settlement  on  the  north 
bank  of  the  Wear.  But  she  was  there  for 
a  year  only,  when  she  was  called  to  replace 
S.  Heiu,  the  first  Abbess  of  Hartlepool.  This 
was  in  649. 

At  Hartlepool,  the  Saint's  care  was  to 
introduce  order  and  discipline,  which  had, 
apparently,  been  relaxed  under  Heiu.  Hither 
came  her  mother,  who  passed  the  rest  of  her 
days  under  the  rule  and  care  of  her  daughter, 
and  there  she  died  and  was  buried. 

In  some  excavations  carried  on  at  Hartle- 
pool on  the  site  of  the  old  abbey,  between 
1833  and  1843,  among  a  number  of  Anglo- 
Saxon  tombs  that  were  discovered,  some  bore 
the  names  of  Berchtgitha,  Hildigitha,  and  other 
members  of  the  sisterhood.^ 

So  great  was  Hilda's  reputation  for  spiritual 

^  Notes  071  the  History  of  S.  Bega  and  S.  Hild.  (Hartle- 
pool, 1844.)     By  D.  H.  Haigh. 


S«  1bU^a  221 

wisdom,  that  when  King  Oswy,  in  fulfilment 
of  his  vow,  consecrated  his  daughter,  Elfleda, 
to  Almighty  God,  as  a  thank-offering  for  his 
victory  over  Penda,  King  of  the  Mercians,  it 
was  to  S.  Hilda's  care  that  he  committed  her. 

Whether  now  or  later  is  uncertain,  but  she 
had  a  second  convent  at  Hackness,  where 
some  very  remarkable  relics  of  the  ecclesiastical 
foundations  of  Hilda  still  remain. 

In  658,  the  peace  and  security  of  North- 
umbria  had  been  secured  by  the  final  victory 
gained  by  Oswy  over  the  Mercians,  at  Winwaed. 
Hilda  at  once  took  advantage  of  the  king's 
vow  to  give  a  certain  number  of  farms  to  God, 
to  secure  Streaneshalch,  now  Whitby,  for  the 
establishment  of  a  new  and  larger  monastery. 

M.  de  Montalembert,  the  historian  of 
Western  Monachism,  says  that :  "  Of  all  sites 
chosen  by  monastic  architects,  after  that  of 
Monte  Cassino,  I  know  none  grander  and  more 
picturesque  than  that  of  Whitby.  Nothing 
now  remains  of  the  Saxon  monastery,  but  more 
than  half  the  Abbey-church,  restored  by  the 
Percies  in  the  time  of  the  Normans,  still  stands, 
and    enables  the   marvelling  spectator  to  form 


222     Tj^bc  Ditatn  Saints  an^  /IDatt^rs 

for  himself  an  idea  of  the  solemn  grandeur  of 
the  great  edifice.  .  .  .  The  beautiful  colour 
of  the  stone,  half-eaten  away  by  the  sea-winds, 
adds  to  the  charm  of  these  ruins.  A  more 
picturesque  effect  could  not  be  imagined  than 
that  of  the  distant  horizon  of  azure  sea,  viewed 
through  the  gaunt,  hollow  eyes  of  the  ruinous 
arches." 

Here,  for  thirty  years,  the  great  Hilda  ruled. 
She  must  have  been  a  woman  of  commanding 
character,  and  of  no  mean  mental  power,  for 
she  exercised  a  really  marvellous  influence  over 
bishops,  kings  and  nobles.  They  came  to  con- 
sult her,  and  received  her  advice  with  respect. 
*'  All  who  knew  her,"  says  Bede,  "  called  her 
Mother,  on  account  of  her  singular  piety  and 
grace.  She  was  not  merely  an  example  of  good 
life  to  those  who  lived  in  her  monastery,  but 
she  afforded  occasion  of  amendment  and  salva- 
tion to  many  who  lived  at  a  distance,  to  whom 
was  carried  the  fame  of  her  industry  and 
virtue." 

The  story  went  that  before  her  birth  her 
mother  had  dreamt  that  she  had  in  her  lap 
a  jewel  that  sent  forth  streams  of  light  ;  and 


S»  Ibilba  223 

it  was  proudly  thought  that  this  meant  that 
she  would  nurse  Hilda,  precious  as  a  gem, 
and  diffusing  the  light  of  divine  truth  through 
dark  Northumbria. 

Under  Hilda's  charge  at  Whitby  was  the 
little  Elfleda,  daughter  of  Oswy,  who  was  to 
succeed  her  in  the  abbacy. 

The  monastery  was  a  curious  institution. 
It  was  double.  There  was  a  community  of 
women  and  another  of  men.  There  was, 
however,  but  one  church  in  which  they  met 
for  prayer.  If  we  may  judge  by  the  Celtic 
monasteries  elsewhere,  a  wall  separated  the 
monks  from  the  nuns,  so  that  they  could  hear 
but  not  see  each  other. 

The  monastery  for  men  under  Hilda  be- 
came a  nursery  for  bishops.  Thence  issued 
Bosa,  who  became  Bishop  of  York, — Hedda, 
Bishop  of  Dorchester,  but  afterwards  translated 
to  Winchester  ;  Oftfor,  Bishop  of  Worcester, 
and  John  of  Hexham,  —  all  saints  ;  also 
Wilfrid  II.,  afterwards  of  York. 

How  these  double  monasteries  were  managed 
one  would  have  been  glad  to  learn,  but  very 
few  details  concerning  them  remain. 


224     Ube  IDtt^ttt  Saints  anb  /iDatt^rs 

At  Whitby,  where  she  had  to  govern  both 
men  and  women,  her  powers  of  organisation 
and  control  were  conspicuous.  But  she  had 
others  under  her  beside  monks  and  nuns  :  she 
ruled  a  large  number  of  serfs  with  their  families, 
attached  to  the  soil  and  tilling  it. 

Amongst  these  was  an  old  cowherd,  named 
Caedmon.  He  was,  as  a  serf,  very  ignorant 
and  uneducated,  but  he  had  rare  natural  gifts, 
long  unsuspected.  He  attended  the  carouses 
so  dear  to  the  beer-drinking  Saxons  and  Angles, 
but  he  was  unable  to  take  his  part,  whenever 
the  harp  was  handed  to  him  and  it  was  his 
turn  to  sing  a  ballad.  On  such  occasions, 
mortified,  he  had  been  wont  to  rise  from  his 
place,  and  retire  to  his  own  reed-thatched 
cottage,  where  he  slept  beside  the  cows  in 
their  stall. 

But  one  evening,  when  he  had  done  this, 
as  he  was  lying  among  the  straw,  and  the 
oxen  were  beside  him  chewing  the  cud,  and 
the  air  was  sweet  with  their  breath,  he  fancied, 
half-asleep  and  half-awake,  that  he  heard  a 
voice  say  :  ^'  Sing  me  something." 

Then  he    replied  :    "  How   can   I  sing  ?      I 


have  left  the  feast  because  I  am  so  ignorant 
that  I  cannot." 

"  Sing,  nevertheless,"  he  thought  the  vision 
said. 

**  But — what  can  I  sing  about  ?  " 

"  Sing  the  story  of  the  World's  Birth." 

Then,  somehow,  an  inspiration  came  on  him, 
and  in  the  night,  among  the  cows,  out  of  the 
straw,  he  raised  his  voice,  and  began  to  throw 
into  rude  verse  the  story  of  Creation.  It  was 
very  rugged,  but  very  fresh,  and  it  welled  up 
from  his  heart  ;  in  the  morning  he  thought 
over  the  lines  he  had  composed,  and  during 
the  day  talked  of  his  newly-acquired  powers. 

The  Abbess  Hilda  heard  of  it,  and  she  sent 
for  him,  and  he  recited  his  poem  before  her. 

Whether  at  the  time  he  twanged  the  harp 
we  do  not  know  ;  probably  he  drew  his  fingers 
across  the  strings  as  he  finished  each  line,  so 
as  to  give  time  for  him  to  form  or  remember 
the  next. 

Now,  in  this  poetry  there  was  no  rhyme, 
as  we  understand  it.  The  musical  effect  was 
produced  by  alliteration — that  is  to  say,  by 
the    repetition    of  some    ringing  consonant  or 

15 


226     Ube  XDivQin  Saints  anb  /Ifbart^rs 

broad  diphthong,  usually  at  the  beginning  of 
a  word.  If  we  understood  Anglo-Saxon  music, 
we  should  understand  the  charm  to  the  ear  of 
this  alliteration. 

Hilda  at  once  recognised  the  genius  of  the 
old  cow-herd  ;  she  took  him  into  her  house- 
holdj  and  bade  him  devote  himself  to  the 
cultivation  of  his  talent.  Thus  it  is  due  to 
her  that  Anglo-Saxon  poetry  took  its  rise — 
or,  at  all  events,  was  recognised  as  literature 
deserving  of  being  preserved.  Caedmon's 
poems  are  the  earliest  specimens  we  have. 

But  Hilda,  with  real  genius,  saw  at  once 
in  the  faculty  of  the  old  peasant  a  great  means 
of  conveying  to  the  rude  people  the  story  of 
Scripture  and  the  lessons  of  the  Gospel.  They 
were  quite  incapable  of  reading.  Priests  were 
few,  and  widely  scattered.  The  people  loved 
ballads  ;  they  would  hearken  for  hours,  sitting 
over  the  fire,  to  a  singer  who  twanged  the 
strings  and  then  sang  a  stave  or  a  line.  They 
loved  a  long  story.  It  could  not  be  too  long 
for  them,  having  no  books,  nothing  where- 
with to  relieve  the  tedium  of  the  long  winter 
evenings. 


S.  Ibilba  1  227 

Now,  thought  Hilda,  if  we  can  run  the 
Bible  stories  into  ballad  form,  these  will  be 
sung  in  every  cottage  and  farm  wherever  a 
gleeman  can  go  certain  of  welcome  ;  they 
will  be  eagerly  listened  to.  So  she  gave  to 
Caedmon  clergy  who  translated  the  Scripture 
narrative  from  Latin  into  homespun  Saxon. 
He  listened,  took  his  harp,  the  fire  came  into 
his  grey  eyes,  and  he  sang  it  all  in  verse. 
Ninety-nine  out  of  a  hundred  other  women 
would  have  said,  *'  This  is  very  interesting, 
but  the  man  must  be  snubbed  ;  he  is  only  a 
keeper  of  cows,  and  he  must  be  taught  not 
to  presume."  Hilda,  however,  was  above  such 
pettiness  :  seeing  a  divine  gift  of  song,  though 
granted  to  quite  a  common  poor  man,  she  at 
once  endeavoured  to  ripen  it,  and  to  turn  it 
to  a  practical,  good  end.  How  to  seize  an 
occasion,  an  opportunity,  and  make  use  of  it, 
is  not  given  to  all. 

Another  instance  of  Hilda's  clear  mind  and 
sound  sense  was  in  the  settlement  of  the  vexed 
question  of  Easter. 

About  that  I  shall  have  more  to  say  when 
we  come  to  the  story  of  S.  Elfleda. 


228     XTbe  DiVQin  Saints  an^  /IDarti^rs 

The  British-Irish  Church  did  not  observe 
Easter  on  the  same  day  as  the  Roman  Church  ; 
and  as  the  Mercians  and  Northumbrians  had 
received  their  Christianity  from  lona,  the  metro- 
polis of  the  Scottish  Church,  they  kept  the 
festival  at  one  time^  when  the  men  of  Kent 
and  Wessex  kept  it  at  another.  This  produced 
discord  at  the  very  season  when  minds  should 
be  awed  and  calm  ;  and  it  was  a  constant 
source  of  bickering  and  religious  quarrels. 
The  situation  was  intolerable,  and,  probably 
at  the  instigation  of  Hilda,  a  parliament  was 
convoked  at  Whitby  in  664  to  settle  the 
difficulty.  This  was  the  TVitenagemot^  com- 
posed of  the  principal  nobles  and  ecclesiastics 
of  the  country,  and  presided  over  by  the  king. 

Hilda  was  now  fifty  years  old,  and  one  would 
have  supposed  at  that  age  would  have  adhered 
with  the  utmost  tenacity  to  the  rule  in  which 
she  had  been  brought  up,  and  which  had  been 
observed  by  her  Father-in-God,  S.  Aidan,  and 
by  S.  Cuthbert,  whom  she  revered  as  a  saint 
and  a  prophet  inspired  by  the  Divine  Spirit. 
But  she  was  a  woman  too  sensible  and  too 
forbearing    to    force    her    own    likings    on    the 


S*  lbtlt)a  229 

Church,  against  what  her  judgment  told  her 
was  right.  Pope  Honorius  had  written  in 
634  to  the  Irish,  exhorting  them  "  not  to 
think  their  small  number,  lodged  at  the  utmost 
fringe  of  the  world,  wiser  than  all  the  ancient 
and  modern  Churches  throughout  the  earth." 
Even  in  lona  great  searchings  of  heart  had 
begun.  S.  Cummian  had  written  to  the  abbot 
there,  explaining  how  the  error  arose  whereby 
the  two  Churches  were  separated,  and  he  en- 
treated the  Celtic  clergy  to  give  way.  "  What," 
he  asked,  "  can  be  worse  thought  concerning 
the  Church,  our  mother,  than  that  we  should 
say,  Rome  errs,  Jerusalem  errs,  Alexandria  errs, 
Antioch  errs,  the  whole  world  errs  ;  the  Scots 
and  Britons  alone  know  what  is  right." 

Hilda's  leanings  were  entirely  to  the  Scottish 
side,  but  Oswy  strongly  adopted  the  other, 
and  the  nobles  and  freemen,  not  caring  much 
one  way  or  the  other,  held  up  their  hands  to 
express  their  willingness  to  observe  Easter  at 
such  time  as  pleased  the  king. 

Hilda  seems  at  once  to  have  submitted, 
and  to  have  introduced  the  observance  of 
the  Roman    computation    at  Whitby,   but    the 


230     Ubc  Dirgin  Saints  anb  /Iftatt^ts 

northern  bishops  withdrew,  unconvinced  and 
discouraged.  Hilda  was  almost  certainly  alive 
when  Caedmon  died,  but  she  was  not  long 
in  following  him.  For  the  last  seven  years 
of  her  life  she  suffered  greatly ;  then,  says 
Bede,  "  the  distemper  turning  inwards,  she 
approached  her  last  day,  and  about  cock-crow, 
having  received  the  Holy  Communion,  to 
further  her  on  her  journey,  and  having  called 
together  the  servants  of  Christ  that  were  in 
the  same  monastery,  she  admonished  them  to 
preserve  evangelical  peace  among  themselves 
and  with  all  others  ;  and  as  she  was  speaking 
she  saw  Death  approaching,  and — passed  from 
death  to  life."     She  died  in  680. 


XIII 
S.    ELFLEBA 


231 


S.  ELFLEDA. 


XIII 
S,    ELFLEBA 

WHEN  the  terrible  Penda  had  advanced 
into  Northumbria,  against  Oswy,  de- 
stroying homesteads  and  harvests  with  fire, 
and  butchering  all  who  fell  into  his  hands, 
then  the  Northumbrian  king  sent  presents  to 
him,  and  asked  for  peace.  The  fierce  Mercian 
refused  the  presents  offered  :  nothing  would 
satisfy  him  but  the  absolute  subjection  of 
the  Northern  Kingdom.  Then,  in  despair, 
Oswy  vowed  to  God  that,  as  the  old  Pagan 
had  rejected  his  gifts,  he  would  dedicate  his 
little  one-year-old  daughter  to  Him,  together 
with  twelve  farms,  if  He  would  bless  his  arms 
in  battle. 

The    odds    were    against   Oswy.      The  host 
opposed    to    him    was    thrice    as    numerous    as 
233 


234     Ube  IDirgin  Saints  anb  /Ilbarti^rs 

his  own.  Ethelhere,  King  of  the  East  Angles, 
had  come  to  the  aid  of  Penda  ;  and  Odilwald, 
son  of  S.  Oswald,  who  had  been  given  an 
underlordship  of  part  of  Deira,  and  who 
thought  he  ought  to  have  succeeded  his  father 
in  kingship,  went  over  to  Penda. 

The  battle  was  fought  on  the  Winwaed, 
near  Leeds  ;  the  Mercians  and  their  allies  in 
their  confidence  had  incautiously  put  the  river 
at  their  back.  Heavy  rains  filled  it  to  over- 
flow ;  it  became  a  deep  and  boiling  torrent, 
cutting  off  retreat.  The  Mercians  were  de- 
feated. A  panic  fell  on  them,  and  as  they 
fled  they  were  swept  away  by  the  swollen  river. 
Of  the  thirty  eorldormen  who  marched  with 
Penda,  hardly  one  survived.  The  King  of 
the  East  Angles  and  the  savage  old  Mercian 
were  among  those  who  were  slain.  Odilwald 
did  not  enter  the  battle.  He  was  well  aware 
that  when  Bernicia  had  been  eaten,  Penda's 
next  mouthful  would  be  Deira.  He  bore  a 
bitter  grudge  against  Oswy,  but  for  all  that 
did  not  care  to  put  the  knife  into  the  hand 
of  the  Mercian  king  wherewith  to  have  his 
own  throat  cut. 


S,  3Eltlet)a  235 

A  battle  song  was  composed  on  the  occasion, 
of  which  a  snatch  has  been  preserved  : — 

"  In   the   river  Winwaed  is   avenged  the  slaughter  of 
Anna, 
The  slaughter  of  Sigbert  and  Ecgric  as  well, 
The  slaughter  of  Oswald  and  Edwin  who  fell." 

The  battle  was  fought  in  6^^,  consequently 
S.  Elfleda  was  born  in  654. 

Oswy  faithfully  kept  his  vow.  He  set 
apart  twelve  estates  to  be  thenceforth  monastic 
property — six  in  the  north  and  six  in  the 
south  of  his  double  kingdom.  He  then  sur- 
rendered the  little  Elfleda  to  be  brought  up 
to  the  service  of  God. 

Her  mother  was  Eanfleda,  daughter  of 
Edwin,  the  first  Christian  King' of  Northumbria. 
It  was,  in  fact,  her  birth,  on  Easter  Day,  626, 
which  was  the  occasion  of  the  subsequent 
conversion  of  her  father,  and  of  his  subjects  ; 
and  Eanfleda  was  the  firstfruits  of  her  nation 
to  receive  baptism  on  the  Whit  Sunday 
following. 

Oswy,  the  father  of  Elfleda,  was  a  dissolute 
and  murderous  ruflian,  who  in  cold  blood  had 


236     Ube  IDttQtn  Safnts  anb  /llbarti^rs 

murdered  the  gallant  Oswin,  King  of  Deira, 
the  kinsman  of  his  own  wife. 

Oswy  gave  his  daughter  to  S.  Hilda,  at 
Hartlepool. 

In  the  furious  and  fratricidal  wars  which 
were  waged  in  England  by  the  conquerors  of 
the  British,  each  kingdom  was  animated  by 
a  blind  instinct  that  the  unity  of  the  race 
should  be  effected  somehow  ;  but  each  under- 
stood this  only  as  by  bringing  the  rest  under 
subjection. 

Elfleda  is  described  by  Bede  as  a  very  pious 
princess.  She  had  a  sister,  older  than  herself, 
Alcfleda,  who  had  been  married  to  Peada,  son 
of  the  ravager  Penda.  But  Alcfleda  bore  no 
love  to  her  husband,  and  had  him  assassinated 
whilst  he  was  celebrating  Easter. 

Two  years  after  Elfleda  had  been  placed 
at  Hartlepool,  S.  Hilda  obtained  a  grant  of 
land  where  now  stands  Whitby,  but  which  was 
then  called  Streaneshalch.  She  moved  thither, 
and  there  constituted  her  famous  monastery. 
This  was  in  658. 

With  Hilda  remained  Elfleda  till  the  death 
of  the  great  abbess  in  680.     On  the  death  of 


S.  3Eme^a  237 

Oswy  in  670,  ten  years  before,  her  mother 
Eanfleda  came  there  ;  but  when  Hilda  died, 
the  young  Elfleda,  and  not  her  mother,  was 
elected  to  be  the  second  abbess.  As  she  was 
scarcely  twenty-five,  she  was  guided  and  assisted 
by  Trumwin,  who  had  been  Bishop  of  Witherne, 
but  had  been  obliged  to  leave  his  diocese  by 
the  unruly  Picts,  and  he  had  withdrawn  to  the 
monastery  of  Hilda  to  remain  under  her  rule. 
Like  all  the  Anglo-Saxon  princesses  of  the 
period  who  retired  into  the  cloister,  Elfleda 
did  not  cease  to  take  a  passionate  interest  in  the 
aiFairs  of  her  race  and  her  country,  and  to 
exercise  a  very  remarkable  influence  over  the 
princes  and  the  people.  When  in  670  Oswy 
died  he  was  succeeded  by  his  son  Egfrid,  as 
unprincipled  a  man  as  his  father.  In  674,  at 
Easter,  S.  Cuthbert  was  drawn  from  his  island 
and  cell  and  was  ordained  Bishop,  with  his 
seat  at  Lindisfarne,  to  rule  the  Northumbrian 
Church,  in  the  presence  of  the  king,  at  York. 
It  was  then  that  Cuthbert,  knowing  what  was 
in  the  heart  of  the  turbulent  king,  urged  him 
to  refrain  from  attacking  the  Picts  and  Scots, 
who   were    not  molesting   the    Northumbrians. 


238     Zbc  \DivQin  Saints  anb  /iDatti^rs 

He  would  not,  however,  hearken.  He  had 
already  despatched  an  army  under  Beorf  to 
wantonly  ravage  Ireland.  This  had,  as  Bede 
said,  "  miserably  wasted  that  harmless  nation, 
which  had  always  been  friendly  to  the  EngHsh  ; 
insomuch  that  in  their  hostile  rage  they  spared 
neither  churches  nor  monasteries."  The  ex- 
pedition against  the  Picts  was  determined  on 
against  the  advice  of  all  his  friends,  and  of  the 
Bishop  of  York,  and  of  Cuthbert. 

Elfleda  was  in  great  anxiety  about  her  head- 
strong brother,  and  she  went  to  see  Cuthbert 
concerning  him.  He  and  the  abbess  met, 
having  gone  by  sea  to  the  place  appointed  for 
the  interview.  She  threw  herself  at  his  feet 
and  entreated  him  to  tell  her  what  the  issue 
would  be — would  Egfrid  have  a  long  reign  ? 

**  I  am  surprised,"  answered  Cuthbert,  "  that 
a  woman  well  versed,  like  you,  in  the  Scriptures, 
should  speak  to  me  of  length  of  human  life, 
which  lasts  no  longer  than  a  spider's  web. 
How  short,  then,  must  life  be  for  a  man  who 
has  but  a  year  to  live,  and  has  death  at  his 
door !  " 

At  these  words  Elfleda's  tears  began  to  flow. 


S*  Blfleba  239 

She  felt  that  the  wise  old  hermit  saw  that 
the  mad  as  well  as  wicked  expedition  of  her 
brother  must  end  fatally. 

Presently,  drying  her  tears,  she  continued 
with  feminine  boldness  to  inquire  who  would 
be  the  king's  successor,  since  he  had  neither 
sons  nor  brothers. 

*'  Say  not  so,"  replied  Cuthbert.  *'  He  shall 
have  a  successor  whom  you  will  love,  as  you 
as  a  sister  love  Egfrid." 

"  Tell  me,"  pursued  Elfleda,  *'  where  can 
this  successor  be  ?  " 

Then  he  turned  his  eyes  to  the  islands 
dotting  this  coast,  and  said:  ''How  many 
islands  there  be  in  this  mighty  ocean  !  Surely 
thence  can  God  bring  a  man  to  reign  over  the 
English." 

Elfleda  then  perceived  that  he  spoke  of  a 
young  man,  Alcfrid,  supposed  to  be  the  son 
of  her  father  Oswy  by  an  Irish  mother,  and 
who  had  been  a  friend  of  Wilfrid,  and  was 
now  in  lona,  probably  hiding  from  his  brother, 
whom  he  could  not  trust. 

The  venerable  Cuthbert  was  not  out  in  his 
conjecture.     On  May  20th,    684,    Egfrid   was 


240     Zbc  mxQin  Saints  an^  /IDarti^tB 

drawn  into  a  pass  at  Drumnechtan,  in  Forfar, 
was  surrounded  by  the  Scots  and  Picts,  slain, 
and  the  great  bulk  of  his  men  cut  to  pieces. 

"  From  that  time,"  says  Bede,  "  the  hopes 
of  the  English  crown  began  to  waver  and 
retrograde;  for  the  Picts  recovered  their  own 
lands,  which  had  been  held  by  the  English." 

Alcfrid  at  once  left  lona,  and  was  chosen 
king.  He  was  a  good  and  just  prince,  much 
under  the  influence  of  Wilfrid  and  inclined  to 
adopt  Roman  fashions. 

It  becomes  necessary  now  to  speak  of  a 
controversy  that  rent  the  unity  of  the  Church 
in  England. 

All  Northumbria,  Mercia  and  Essex  had 
received  the  faith  from  lona,  the  monastic 
capital  of  the  Scots,  whereas  Kent  and  Wessex 
had  received  it  from  Rome. 

lona  had  been  founded  in  563  by  S. 
Columba,  an  Irishman  ;  and  it  was  from  lona 
that  S.  Aidan,  the  Apostle  of  Northumbria,  had 
been  sent.  Lindisfarne,  the  seat  of  the  Bishops 
of  Northumbria,  was  a  daughter  of  lona. 

Now,  there  were  certain  differences  between 
this  Celtic  Church  and  that  of  Rome  and  Gaul. 


S»  Blfle^a  241 

In  the  first  place,  the  Britons  and  Irish  had 
been  cut  off  from  communication  with  the 
rest  of  Europe  by  the  troubles  that  afflicted 
the  Empire  as  it  fell  into  ruin  under  the 
blows  of  the  Barbarians.  Consequently  they 
•were  unaware  that  a  change  had  been  agreed  on 
in  the  observance  of  Easter.  It  was  discovered 
in  387  that  the  system  of  calculating  Easter 
was  erroneous,  and  Pope  Hilary  employed  one 
Victorinus  to  frame  a  new  cycle,  which  was 
thenceforth  followed  in  the  Latin  Church. 
But  of  this  change  the  British  and  Irish 
Church  knew  nothing  ;  and  when  Augustine 
and  his  followers  arrived  in  Kent  they  found 
that  the  ancient  Church  of  the  Britons  observed 
Easter  on  a  different  day  from  themselves. 

That  was  not  all.  The  Celtic  monks  had 
a  different  tonsure  or  mode  of  cutting  of 
the  hair  from  the  Latin  monks.  Instead  of 
shaving  the  top  of  the  head,  and  leaving  the 
hair  as  a  crown,  they  shaved  the  front  of 
the  head  from  ear  to  ear.  Now,  the  reason 
of  the  use  of  the  tonsure  among  the  Celts 
was  this.  The  cutting  of  the  hair  signified 
adoption,    and  there  is  some  reason  to  beheve 

16 


342     Ube  mvQin  Saints  an^  /llbatt^rs 

that  every  tribe  or  clan  clipped  its  hair  in 
its  own  peculiar  fashion.  The  Ecclesiastical 
tribe  adopted  the  shaving  of  the  front  of 
the  head  ;  and  every  one  so  shaven  belonged 
in  the  ecclesiastical  clan. 

When  S.  David  settled  in  the  valley  where 
is  now  the  Cathedral  that  bears  his  name, 
there  was  an  Irish  Pict  invader  living  in  a 
camp  hard  by.  He  had  seized  on  that  bit 
of  Pembrokeshire.  His  name  was  Boia,  and 
he  was  a  pagan.  His  wife  was  highly  incensed 
at  Christian  monks  settling  on  their  land  and 
near  at  hand,  and  she  tried  to  goad  her  husband 
to  murder  them.  But  he  was  a  good-natured 
man,  and  he  absolutely  refused  to  do  her  will. 
Then  she  resolved  to  get  her  heathen  gods 
to  strike  them  dead,  and  in  order  to  gain 
the  favour  of  the  gods  she  must  offer  them 
a  sacrifice  of  one  of  her  children.  But  she 
had  none  of  her  own  ;  so  she  called  to  her 
a  little  girl,  a  daughter  of  her  husband  by 
a  former  wife,  and  told  her  she  would  cut 
her  hair.  She  took  the  girl  down  into  a 
sunny  place  in  a  hazel  grove  on  the  slope 
of  the    hill,    and    there,  with    her    shears,    cut 


S»  lElfleba  243 

her  hair.  Now,  as  cutting  the  hair  was 
esteemed  to  be  adoption,  by  this  act  she  had 
made  the  child  her  own  ;  so  she  instantly  with 
the  shears  cut  the  girl's  throat  as  an  offering 
to  the  gods.  Now  the  British  clergy,  by  their 
form  of  cutting  the  hair,  regarded  themselves 
as  adopted  into  the  family  of  God,  or  the 
Ecclesiastical  tribe. 

Augustine  and  the  Latin  clergy  could  not 
understand  this.  Instead  of  arguing  with  the 
native  Christians  they  denounced  them.  They 
called  them  Judaisers  because  they  observed 
Easter  at  the  wrong  time,  which  was 
false  ;  and  they  called  the  tonsure  of  the 
Celts  that  of  Simon  Magus,  which  was 
nonsense. 

There  were  other  peculiarities.  The  British 
Church  used  unleavened  bread  at  the  Eucharist, 
and  the  Latin  Church  at  that  time  only  such 
bread  as  was  leavened.  Also,  another  high 
misdemeanour  was  that,  instead  of  employing 
a  single  collect  before  the  Epistle  and  Gospel, 
there  were  more  than  one  said.  In  these  two 
last  particulars  the  Latin  Church  has  altered 
now    her    practice  ;     in    the    matter    of    the 


244     Ube  IDlrgin  Saints  anb  /IDattyts 

unleavened  bread,  the  change  took  place  in  the 
tenth  century. 

Now,  the  matter  of  Easter  was  very  vexing, 
for  whilst  those  who  followed  the  Roman 
rule  were  singing  Allelujah  and  were  rejoicing, 
the  Celtic  and  Northumbrian  and  Mercian 
Christians  were  still  keeping  Lent.  Precisely 
the  same  thing  occurs  in  Russia,  where  in 
English  and  Roman  chaplaincies  Easter  is 
kept  whilst  the  Russians  are  still  fasting. 

This  became  a  burning  question  when  the 
Northumbrian  kings  married  princesses  from  the 
South.  These  had  their  own  chaplains  and 
kept  Easter  at  their  time,  whilst  their  husbands 
and  the  court  and  the  people  were  in  the  midst 
of  Passion  solemnities. 

As  to  the  matter  of  the  tonsure,  on  which 
the  Roman  clergy  made  a  great  noise,  it 
was  like  asking  a  clan  to  change  its  tartan, — 
say  the  McDonalds  to  be  forced  to  adopt 
that  of  the  Campbells. 

Oswy  had  found  the  condition  of  affairs 
intolerable,  as  his  own  queen  followed  the 
Roman  rule,  whilst  he  observed  that  of  the 
Celtic  Church. 


S»  jElfle^a  245 

Oswy  had  associated  his  son  Alcfrid  with 
him  in  the  government  of  Northumbria,  and 
Alcfrid  was  much  swayed  by  Wilfrid,  a  com- 
panion of  his  age  then  living  at  the  Court  of 
Oswy,  who  had  been  to  Rome,  seen  its  wonders 
and  the  splendours  of  the  pontifical  services  in 
the  old  basilica  of  S.  Peter.  He  came  back 
with  his  head  full  of  what  he  had  seen,  and 
utterly  scorning  everything  British,  even  the 
Christianity  of  his  Northumbrian  brethren.  In 
his  idea  nothing  would  avail  but  the  conform- 
ing of  the  Church  in  Northumbria  to  Roman 
obedience  and  Roman  customs. 

Oswy  was  induced  to  summon  a  council  at 
Whitby  to  decide  matters  of  controversy.  On 
the  Scottish  side  were  S.  Colman,  the  North- 
umbrian bishop,  with  his  clergy ;  S.  Hilda, 
followed  of  course  by  Elfleda  ;  S.  Cedd,  bishop 
of  the  East  Saxons.  On  the  Roman  side  was 
Agilbert,  bishop  of  the  West  Saxons,  the 
Queen's  chaplain,  Wilfrid,  then  only  a  priest, 
one  other  priest,  and  a  deacon.  The  King 
favoured  the  Celtic  use,  Alcfrid  the  Latin. 

Wilfrid  was  the  chief  speaker  on  the  latter 
side,   and    he  dexterously  appealed    to  Oswy's 


346     XTbe  \)ivQin  Saints  an^  /iDarti^ra 

fears.  The  Roman  Church  must  be  right,  he 
said,  because  S.  Peter,  its  founder,  held  the 
keys  of  heaven.  At  once  Oswy  quaked  ;  he 
recollected  his  dastardly  murder  of  Oswin.  It 
would  never  do  for  him  not  to  make  a  friend 
of  the  doorkeeper  of  heaven.  So  he  gave 
way,  and  the  Celtic  bishops,  deprived  of  his 
support,  but  unyielding  and  unconvinced, 
withdrew. 

It  was  now  hoped  that  the  Church  would 
have  peace,  and  the  points  of  difference  would 
gradually  disappear.  S.  Hilda,  at  Whitby, 
accepted  the  Roman  computation.  But  it  was 
not  so  easy  to  satisfy  a  clergy  and  people 
brought  up  in  another  school. 

To  make  matters  worse,  Wilfrid  was  appointed 
Bishop  of  York,  a  man  of  a  violent,  headstrong 
character,  who,  to  begin  with,  refused  to  accept 
consecration  from  bishops  in  the  North  with 
Celtic  orders  ;  but  went  deliberately  to  Gaul 
to  be  ordained  there,  so  as  to  cast  a  slur  on 
the  Church  of  the  people  to  rule  over  whom 
he  had  been  called. 

Wilfrid  had  no  idea  of  persuasion,  had  not 
a  spark  of  Christian   love  in_.  his^composition  ; 


S»  iBinc^a  247 

he  could  insult,  browbreat,  but  not  persuade. 
In  his  diocese  he  roused  revolt  and  provoked 
brawls,  and  was  expelled  from  it,  not  once 
only,  but  whenever  he  returned. 

Now  the  new  King  Alcfrid  had  brought 
with  him  from  lona  attachment  to  the  order 
of  the  Church  of  SS.  Columba  and  Aidan. 
Elfleda  inherited  the  same  reverence  and  love 
for  these  usages.  But  on  the  other  side  there 
were  strong  political  reasons  which  led  men  to 
think  it  would  be  well  to  come  to  an  arrange- 
ment with  Canterbury  and  Rome.  It  was 
awkward  to  have  these  differences,  this  cleavage, 
even  in  the  royal  palace.  It  was  unadvisable 
that  the  Angles  of  the  North  and  of  the 
Midlands  should  have  to  apply  to  the  Scots 
and  Britons,  their  hereditary  enemies,  for  their 
bishops.  If  the  Angles  and  Saxons  could  but 
agree  in  ecclesiastical  matters,  they  would  be 
a  more  compact  body  to  oppose  Britons  and 
Scots  ;  and,  further  still,  it  would  be  an  element 
conducive  to  the  much  desired  unity  of  the 
English  people.  This  ecclesiastical  unity  would 
be  the  first  step  to  the  cessation  of  that  inter- 
necine war  between  Northumbria,  Mercia,  and 


248     Xlbe  Dttotn  Saints  aiiD  /n>att^rs 

Wessex,  which  tore  the    island   in   pieces   and 
soaked  its  fertile  soil  with  blood. 

Hoping  that  Wilfrid,  now  an  aged  man, 
would  be  softened  by  adversity,  he  was  suffered 
to  return.  To  the  new  king,  as  well  as  to  his 
sister,  S.  Elfleda,  Abbess  of  Whitby,  Archbishop 
Theodore  of  Canterbury  wrote,  to  exhort  them 
to  receive  Wilfrid  with  unreserved  kindness. 
They  consented,  and  in  687  he  reappeared  at 
York  ;  but  it  was  to  excite  new  storms  in  his 
diocese,  and  he  was  again  exiled  in  691. 

Alcfrid  died  in  705,  and  the  Northumbrian 
crown  passed  to  a  prince  named  Eadwulf. 
Wilfrid  had  taken  advantage  of  the  death  of 
Alcfrid  to  return,  but  was  ordered  to  leave 
the  country  in  six  days.  But  Eadwulf  was 
dethroned,  and  Osred,  a  son  of  Alcfrid,  aged 
eight,  became  King  of  Bernicia.  By  some 
unexplained  means  Wilfrid  was  now,  all  at 
once,  master  of  the  situation.  Archbishop 
Berthwald  of  Canterbury  had  convoked  a  synod 
that  was  to  settle  the  disputes,  and  it  met  on 
the  banks  of  the  Nidd.  It  was  attended  by 
the  northern  Bishops  of  York,  Lindisfarne, 
and  Witherne,  by  Elfleda  also,  the  Abbess  ot 


S»  JElfleba  249 

Whitby,  and  by  Berchtfrid,  the  regent  of  the 
kingdom  during  the  minority  of  Osred.  Arch- 
bishop Berthwald  read  the  letters  of  the  pope 
on  the  points  in  dispute.  But  the  bishops 
were  very  unwilling  to  make  way  for  so  turbu- 
lent a  person  as  Wilfrid.  Then  it  was  that 
Elfleda  stood  forward,  and  in  a  voice  which 
was  listened  to  as  an  utterance  from  heaven, 
she  described  the  last  illness  of  her  half-brother 
Alcfrid,  and  his  death,  and  assured  all  that 
he  had  then  resolved  to  accept  the  papal 
decrees,  which  hitherto,  when  his  mind  was 
clear,  he  had  so  vigorously  rejected.  "  This," 
said  she,  "was  the  last  will  of  Alcfrid  the 
King.     I  attest  the  truth  of  it  before  Christ.'* 

Nevertheless  the  three  bishops  would  not 
yield  ;  they  retired  from  the  assembly  to  confer 
among  themselves,  and  with  the  Archbishop, 
and,  above  all,  with  the  sagacious  Elfleda.  It 
was  due  to  her  that  a  compromise  was  efl^ected. 
The  monasteries  of  Ripon  and  Hexham  were 
restored  to  W^ilfrid  and  with  that  he  was  to 
be  content. 

Shortly  before  his  death,  S.  Cuthbert  went 
to   see    Elfleda    in    the    neighbourhood  of  the 


250     Z\)c  Dirain  Saints  anb  /Ibartyts 


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%.  Blfleba  251 

great  monastery  of  Whitby,  to  consecrate  a 
church  she  had  built  there.  They  dined 
together ;  and  during  the  meal,  seeing  the 
knife  drop  from  the  trembling  hand  of  the 
old  bishop,  in  the  abstraction  of  his  far-away 
thoughts,  she  asked  him  what  he  thought 
about,  and  he  told  her  that  he  had  had  a 
glimpse  of  the  future.  She  urged  him  to 
eat  more. 

*^  I  cannot  be  eating  all  day  long,"  he 
replied.      "You  must   allow  me  a  little  rest." 

On  the  death  of  Oswy,  as  already  related, 
Elfleda's  mother  had  come  to  Whitby  and 
placed  herself  under  the  rule  of  her  own 
daughter,  and  Elfleda  closed  her  eyes.  She 
herself  died  in  716,  at  the  age  of  sixty-four. 
No  account  of  her  last  illness  has  been  trans- 
mitted to  us. 

Elfleda  certainly  played  an  important  con- 
ciliatory part  when  minds  were  heated  with 
controversy.  She  was  right  undoubtedly.  It 
was  a  mistake  for  the  Church  in  North 
England  to  hold  to  a  usage  that  was  founded 
on  a  blunder.  It  was  a  mistake  to  persist  in 
keeping  Wilfrid,   canonically  bishop   of  York, 


252     XTbe  mvQin  Saints  anb  /IDarti^rs 

for  many  years  out  of  his  see.  It  was  a 
political  necessity  that  all  Englishmen  should 
be  united,  at  all  events,  in  their  religious 
observances.  That  paved  the  way  to  future 
political  unity. 


XIV 

S.    JVERBURGA 


253 


S.    WERBURGA. 


XIV 

S.    JVERBURGA 

THE  words  of  Montalembert  deserve  to  be 
transcribed  and  re-read,  so  true  are  they 
as  well  as  graceful. 

*'  Nothing  had  more  astonished  the  Romans 
than  the  austere  chastity  of  the  German  women  ; 
the  religious  respect  of  the  men  for  the  partners 
of  their  labours  and  dangers,  in  peace  as  well 
as  in  war  ;  and  the  almost  divine  honours 
with  which  they  surrounded  the  priestesses  or 
prophetesses,  who  sometimes  presided  at  their 
religious  rites,  and  sometimes  led  them  to 
combat  against  the  violators  of  the  national 
soil.  When  the  Roman  world,  undermined 
by  corruption  and  imperial  despotism,  fell  to 
pieces  like  the  arch  of  a  cloaca^  there  is  no 
better  indication  of  the  difference  between 
25s 


256     Ubc  XDiXQin  Saints  ant)  /IDatti^ts 

the  debased  subjects  of  the  empire  and  their 
conquerors,  than  that  sanctity  of  conjugal  and 
domestic  ties,  that  energetic  family  feeling, 
that  worship  of  pure  blood,  which  are  founded 
upon  the  dignity  of  woman,  and  respect  for 
her  modesty,  no  less  than  upon  the  proud 
independence  of  man  and  the  consciousness 
of  personal  dignity.  It  is  by  this  special 
quality  that  the  barbarians  showed  themselves 
worthy  of  instilling  a  new  life  into  the 
West,  and  becoming  the  forerunners  of  the 
new  Christian  nations  to  which  we  all  owe 
our  birth. 

"Who  does  not  recall  those  Cimbri  whom 
Marius  had  so  much  trouble  in  conquering, 
and  whose  women  rivalled  the  men  in  boldness 
and  heroism  ?  Those  women,  who  had  followed 
their  husbands  to  the  war,  gave  the  Romans 
a  lesson  in  modesty  and  greatness  of  soul  of 
which  the  future  tools  of  the  tyrants  and  the 
Caesars  were  not  worthy.  They  would  surrender 
only  on  the  promise  of  the  consul  that  their 
honour  should  be  protected,  and  that  they 
should  be  given  as  slaves  to  the  Vestals,  thus 
putting    themselves    under    the    protection    of 


S»  Metburea  257 

those  whom  they  regarded  as  virgins  and 
priestesses.  The  great  beginner  of  democratic 
dictatorship  refused  :  upon  which  they  killed 
themselves  and  their  children,  generously  pre- 
ferring death  to  shame. 

''  The  Anglo-Saxons  came  from  the  same 
districts,  bathed  by  the  waters  of  the  Northern 
Sea,  which  had  been  inhabited  by  the  Cimbri, 
and  showed  themselves  worthy  of  descent  from 
them,  as  much  by  the  irresistible  onslaught  of 
the  warriors  as  by  the  indisputable  power  of 
their  armies.  No  trace  of  the  old  Roman 
spirit  which  put  a  wife  in  manu,  in  the  hand 
of  her  husband — that  is  to  say,  under  his  feet 
— is  to  be  found  among  them.  Woman  is  a 
person,  and  not  a  thing.  She  lives,  she  speaks, 
she  acts  for  herself,  guaranteed  against  the 
least  outrage  by  severe  penalties,  and  protected 
by  universal  respect.  She  inherits,  she  dis- 
poses of  her  possessions — sometimes  even  she 
deliberates,  she  fights,  she  governs,  like  the 
most  proud  and  powerful  of  men.  The  in- 
fluence of  women  has  been  nowhere  more 
effectual,  more  fully  recognised,  or  more 
enduring  than  among  the   Anglo-Saxons,   and 

17 


258     Ube  MtQin  Saints  anb  /IDatt^rs 

nowhere    was    it     more     legitimate    or    more 
happy.'*  ^ 

Britain  had  been  invaded,  and  subdued. 
From  the  wall  of  Antonine  that  connected  the 
Firth  of  Forth  with  the  Clyde,  to  what  was 
now  to  be  called  the  English  Channel,  all 
the  east  coast  and  centre  of  the  island  was 
occupied  by  the  conquerors  from  Germany. 
The  Britons  had  been  rolled  back  into  the 
kingdoms  of  Strathclyde,  Rheged,  Wales,  and 
Cornwall  and  Devon. 

The  conquerors  had  coalesced  into  three  great 
kingdoms — Northumbria,  Mercia,  and  Wessex. 

From  the  island  of  lona,  missionaries  of  the 
Irish  Church  had  effected  the  conversion  of 
the  Northumbrians.  Augustine  with  his  hand- 
ful from  Rome  had  introduced  Christianity  into 
the  little  subject  Kingdom  of  Kent.  From 
Northumbria  the  disciples  of  lona  penetrated 
Essex  and  made  converts  also  there.  But  in 
Mercia  Mid-England  paganism  was  supreme, 
and  the  terrible  Penda  made  himself  para- 
mount from  the  Thames  and  Wash  to  the 
Severn.     The  West  Saxons  were  cowed. 

1  Monks  of  the  West,  1868,  vol.  v.,  pp.  219-21. 


S*  Metbur^a  259 

But  S.  Oswald,  the  Northumbrian  king, 
restored  the  older  domination  of  Northumbria, 
only  to  fall  again.  For  thirty  years  Penda 
flung  himself  with  fury  against  the  Northern 
kingdom,  and  devastated  it  with  fire  and 
sword.  Towards  the  end  of  his  long  reign 
he  entrusted  the  government  of  the  Mid- 
Angles  to  his  son  Peada,  who  married 
Alcfleda,  daughter  of  the  Northumbrian  king, 
and  at  the  same  time  received  baptism  from 
the  hands  of  the  Celtic  bishop  Finan. 

Thus  Christianity  began  to  infiltrate  into 
Mid-England  also  from  the  North  and  from 
the  Celtic  Church  ;  and  missionaries  from  Lin- 
disfarne  followed  him  into  his  principality. 

The  savage  old  pagan  Penda  acquiesced — 
perhaps  he  thought  it  inevitable  that  England 
should  become  Christian.  The  Britons  to  a 
man  believed.  All  Northumbria  had  submitted 
to  the  Cross  ;  the  conversion  of  the  East 
Saxons  and  of  Wessex  was  in  full  progress. 
Penda  raised  no  opposition,  but  poured  forth 
the  vials  of  his  scorn  upon  such  as  had  been 
baptised,  and  who  did  not  live  up  to  their 
baptismal     promises.      "  Those    who    despise," 


26o     XTbe  mvQin  Saints  anb  /ll>art^rs 

said  he,  "  the  laws  of  the  God  in  whom  they 
believe,  are  despicable  wretches." 

But,  notwithstanding  the  union  by  marriage 
between  the  families,  the  rivalry  between  Mercia 
and  Northumbria  could  not  be  allayed ;  it  must 
be  decided  on  the  battlefield.  It  was  only 
when  driven  to  desperation  by  the  encroach- 
ments and  insults  of  Penda,  that  Oswy  resolved 
to  engage  in  a  final  conflict  with  the  man  who 
had  defeated  and  slain  his  two  predecessors, 
Edwin  and  Oswald.  During  the  thirteen  years 
that  had  elapsed  since  the  overthrow  of  Oswald, 
Penda  had  periodically  subjected  Northumbria 
to  frightful  devastations.  Oswy,  knowing  his 
weakness,  when  the  eighty-year-old  pagan  had 
got  as  far  north  as  Bamborough,  entreated  for 
peace,  and  sent  him  a  present  of  all  the  jewels 
and  treasures  of  which  he  could  dispose.  Penda 
set  them  aside  roughly,  resolved,  so  it  was 
believed,  to  root  out  and  destroy  the  whole 
Northumbrian  people.  Then,  in  his  despair, 
Oswy  vowed — should  God  strengthen  his  hand 
and  lead  him  to  victory — that  he  would  give 
his  infant  daughter  to  God  and  endow  twelve 
monasteries.      *'  Since   the  pagan  will  not  take 


S»  Metburga  261 

our  gifts,"  he  said,  "  let  us  offer  them  to  One 
who  will." 

The  battle  of  Winwaed  resulted  in  the  com- 
plete rout  of  the  Mercians  and  their  wholesale 
destruction,  and  Penda  himself  fell. 

For  the  moment  the  ruin  of  Mercia  seemed 
complete,  and  Oswy  extended  his  supremacy 
over  the  whole  of  it.  For  three  years  the 
Mercians  endured  this  foreign  rule  ;  but  in  659 
they  surged  up  in  revolt,  drove  the  Northum- 
brian thanes  from  the  land,  and  raised  Wulf  here, 
a  younger  son  of  Penda,  to  the  throne. 

Under  the  able  arm  of  this  new  king  Mercia 
rose  once  more  into  a  power  even  greater  than 
that  under  Penda.  Oswy  died  in  670,  and 
thenceforth  no  Northumbrian  king  made  any 
attempt  to  obtain  the  dominion  over  the  Mid 
or  Southern  English. 

During  the  three  years  after  the  death  of 
Penda,  Oswy  had  poured  missionaries  into 
Mercia.  Peada  had  already  brought  the  Irish 
monk  Diuma  with  him,  and  he  became  bishop 
in  Mercia.  He  was  followed  by  another  Irish- 
man, Ceolach,  a  disciple  of  S.  Columba.  The 
third   bishop    was    Trumhcre,  a  Northumbrian 


262     Ube  IDtrgtn  Saints  anO  /iDart^rs 

abbot,  consecrated  at  Lindisfarne.  His  successors, 
Jaruman  and  Ceadda,  had  also  been  ordained 
by  the  Scots. 

In  658  Wulfhere  had  married  Ermenilda, 
daughter  of  Ercombert,  King  of  Kent,  and  of 
his  wife  S.  Sexburga.  This  was  just  before 
the  revolt  which  raised  him  to  the  throne. 
He  does  not  seem  to  have  been  a  Christian 
like  his  brother  Peada,  but  to  have  felt  much 
like  old  Penda,  his    father. 

By  her  he  had  four  children — Werburga, 
Ceonred,    Rufinus,  and  Wulfhad. 

Under  a  pious  mother,  Werburga  grew  up 
in  the  nurture  and  admonition  of  the  Lord  ; 
and  from  an  early  age  her  great  desire  was 
to  embrace  the  rehgious  life,  and  spend  her 
days  in  the  peace  of  the  cloister.  It  was  a 
lawless  and  godless  time.  Men  were  coarse 
and  cruel,  the  palace  was  a  scene  of  drunken- 
ness and  riot,  from  which  her  gentle  spirit 
shrank.  She  is  described  as  being  very  lovely 
and  sweet  in  manner.  She  daily  assisted  with 
her  mother  at  Divine  Service,  and  spent  much 
of  her  time  in  reading  and  in  prayer. 

When   she  came  of  age  to  be  married,  her 


S.  Metburga  263 

hand  was  sought  by  one  Werebod,  a  thane 
about  the  court,  but  she  refused  him. 

Now  we  come  to  a  story  about  which  some 
difficulties  exist.  In  the  twelfth  century  one 
Robert  of  SwafFham  wrote  an  account  of  the 
death  of  Rufinus  and  Wulfhad,  sons  of  Wulf- 
here  and  brothers  of  S.  Werburga.  The 
authority  is  late,  too  late  to  be  trusted,  as 
we  do  not  know  whence  the  writer  drew  his 
narrative. 

According  to  this  story,  when  Rufinus  and 
Wulfhad  heard  of  Werebod's  proposal,  they 
scouted  it,  and  told  him  to  his  face  that  he  was 
not  worthy  to  have  her.  Werebod  dissembled 
his  mortification,  and  waited  an  opportunity  for 
revenge.  The  princes  were  then  at  Stone, 
in  Staffordshire,  where  Wulf  here  had  a  palace. 

One  day  Wulfhad  was  out  hunting,  when 
the  stag  he  was  pursuing  brought  him  to  the 
cell  of  S.  Ceadda  or  Chad,  who  exhorted  him 
to  receive  the  faith  of  Christ  and  be  baptised. 
Wulfhad  answered  that  he  would  do  so  if  the 
stag  he  had  been  pursuing  would  come  of  its 
own  accord,  with  a  rope  round  its  neck,  and 
present    itself  before   him.       S.    Chad    prayed, 


264     Uhc  WvQin  Saints  anb  /Iftart^rs 

and  the  stag  bounded  through  the  bushes  to 
the  spot,  with  the  rope  as  Wulthad  desired. 
S.  Chad  baptised  the  prince,  and  next  morning 
communicated  him.  Rufinus  was  led  by  his 
brother  to  receive  holy  baptism,  and  when 
Werebod  learned  this,  he  told  the  king  of  it, 
and  Wulfhere,  in  a  fit  of  fury,  pursued  his 
sons  to  the  cell  of  S.  Chad,  and  killed  them 
with  his  own  hands. 

The  story  as  it  stands  is  impossible.  There 
is  no  early  notice  of  it,  so  that  it  reposes  on  a 
late  tradition.  Nevertheless,  that  there  is  a  basis 
of  truth  is  most  probable,  if  not  certain.  The 
Church  of  Kinver  is  dedicated  to  SS.  Rufinus 
and  Wulfhad,  and  it  stands  under  the  Kefn- 
vaur,  the  great  red  sandstone  ridge  on  which 
are  earthworks  where  Wulfhere  had  one  of  his 
strongholds.  This  is  probably  the  site  of  the 
murder.  That  the  two  princes  in  their  youthful 
pride  scouted  the  suit  of  Werebod  and  insulted 
him  is  likely  enough.  That  they  had  received 
lively  impressions  of  reverence  for  Christianity 
from  their  mother  is  also  very  probable.  That 
they  had  placed  themselves  under  instruction 
by  S.  Chad,  and  had  been  baptised  by  him,   is 


S.  Merburga  265 

also  very  likely.  But  that  their  father  should 
have  killed  them  on  that  account  is  inadmis- 
sible. Werebod  may  have  poisoned  his  mind 
against  his  sons,  and  represented  them  as 
plotting  against  him  with  the  Northumbrian 
king  and  using  Chad  as  an  intermediary,  and 
he  may  have  goaded  Wulfhere  into  ordering 
their  death  on  that  account;  or  there  may 
have  been  a  violent  scene  between  them  which 
ended  in  the  king  killing  them ;  or,  more 
likely  still,  Werebod  may  himself  have  way- 
laid and  assassinated  them  whilst  out  hunting. 
It  took  very  little  among  the  Anglo-Saxons 
to  transform  any  one  who  died  a  violent  death 
into  a  martyr  ;  and  when  two  royal  princes  had 
been  killed,  some  excuse  for  regarding  them  as 
witnesses  to  the  faith  was  sought  and  invented. 

The  bodies  of  the  princes  were  conveyed  to 
Stone,  so  called  because  of  a  memorial  set  up 
over  them  by  Wulfhere,  an  inscribed  pillar- 
stone  ;  but,  moved  by  compunction,  he  founded 
there  a  religious  house  for  women.  Wulfhere 
himself  was  baptised,  and  gave  his  consent  to 
his  daughter  retiring  from  the  world.  He  also 
founded  the  great  monastery  of  Medehamstead, 


266     XTbe  \)ivQin  Saints  anb  /IDatt^rs 

afterwards    Peterborough,    as    some    expiation 
for  his  crime. 

Before  this,  Wulthere  had  been  constantly- 
engaged  in  extending  the  power  of  Mercia. 
He  detached  from  Northumbria  all  the  district 
south  of  the  Mersey,  and  with  it  got  hold  of 
Chester,  of  which  place  in  later  times  his 
daughter  was  to  be  regarded  as  patroness. 
He  gained  a  hold  on  the  whole  of  the  Severn 
valley  and  the  Wye,  our  Herefordshire,  over 
which  he  set  his  brother  Merewald  as  under- 
lying. Then  he  fought  the  West  Saxons  under 
Cenwalch  in  66 1,  and  defeated  them  in  a 
signal  battle,  and  extended  his  ravages  into 
the  heart  of  Wessex  as  far  as  Ashdown.  Then 
he  turned  his  arms  east  along  the  Thames 
valley,  and  brought  the  East  Saxons  and 
London  under  his  sway.  Still  unsatisfied,  he 
crossed  the  river  into  Surrey,  subdued  it,  and 
invaded  Sussex  and  forced  the  King  Ethel- 
walch  to  submit,  and  to  receive  baptism. 
Werburga  resolved  to  retire  to  Ely  where 
her  great-aunt  Etheldreda  was  abbess.  Wulf- 
here  and  his  court  conducted  her  thither,  in 
great  state. 


S.  Merburga  267 

We  cannot  now  see  Ely  in  anything  like 
its  ancient  condition.  Then  the  entire  district 
from  Cambridge  to  the  Wash  was  one  broken 
sheet  of  water  dotted  with  islets.  In  places 
there  were  shallows  where  reeds  grew  dense, 
the  islands  were  fringed  with  rushes  and 
willows.  The  vast  mere  was  a  haunt  of  in- 
numerable wild  birds,  and  the  water  teemed 
with  fishes.  The  vast  plain  of  the  fens — which 
is  now  in  summer  one  sea  of  golden  corn,  in 
winter  a  black  dreary  fallow  cut  up  like  a 
chess-board  into  squares  by  dykes — was  then 
a  tangle  of  meres,  rank  growth  of  waterweeds 
and  copses  of  alders  and  grey  poplars.  The 
rivers  Cam  and  Nen  lost  themselves  in  the 
waste  of  waters.  Trees  torn  up,  fallen  into 
the  water,  floated  about,  formed  natural  rafts, 
lodged,  and  diverted  what  little  current  there 
was  in  the  streams. 

Here  and  there  poles  had  been  driven  into 
the  stiff  clay  that  formed  the  bottom  of  the 
swamp,  cross-pieces  had  been  tied  to  them, 
then  platforms  erected  six,  ten  feet  above 
the  surface  of  the  water,  and  on  these  plat- 
forms huts  had  been  constructed  of  poles  and 


268     XTbe  Wivgin  Saints  anb  /llbarti^rs 

rushes,  in  which  lived  families,  their  only  means 
of  communication  with  each  other  and  with 
the  firm  land  being  by  boat.  On  the  water  and 
by  the  water  they  lived,  tilHng  little  bits  of  land 
left  dry  in  summer  but  submerged  in  winter. 

The  islets  were  outcrops  of  fertile  land, 
natural  parks,  covered  by  the  richest  grass 
and  stateliest  trees,  swarming  with  deer  and 
roe,  goat  and  boar,  as  the  water  around 
swarmed  with  otter  and  beaver,  and  with  fowl 
of  every  feather  and  fish  of  every  scale. 

Of  all  these  islets  none "  could  compare  with 
Ely,  not,  as  has  been  supposed^  named  from 
the  eels  that  were  found  about  it,  but  from 
the  elves  who  were  supposed  to  have  chosen 
it  for  their  own  and  to  dance  in  the  moon- 
light on  its  greensward. 

Better,  purer  beings  than  elves,  had  taken 
possession  of  this  enchanted  isle — S.  Ethel- 
dreda  and  her  nuns  ;  and  it  was  through  them 
that  the  wild  fen-dwellers,  those  who  lived  on 
platforms  above  the  water,  received  the  rudi- 
ments of  the  faith,  and  were  ministered  to  in 
their  agues  and  rheumatic  paralysis. 

Etheldreda    did    not    found    her    monastery 


S*  Merbur^a  269 

here  till  673.  As  Wulfhere  died  in  675,  he 
can  have  accompanied  his  daughter  there  only 
very  shortly  after  Etheldreda's  settlement  in  the 
place.  There  is  no  stone  anywhere  near,  every 
block  that  has  been  employed  on  the  glorious 
cathedral  has  been  brought  from  a  distance, 
mostly  from  Barwell,  in  Northamptonshire. 

Etheldreda  constructed  her  monastery  and 
church  entirely  of  wood.  Great  trunks  had 
been  split  and  these  split  logs  formed  the  sides 
of  her  church,  and  it  was  thatched  with  reeds 
from  the  marshes.  The  king  came  by  boat  ; 
the  oars  flashed  in  the  sun,  and  the  water  rippled 
as  the  vessels  were  driven  through  it  to  the 
landing  stage.  Werburga,  eager,  stood  looking 
forward  to  the  lovely  island  that  seemed  to 
float  on  the  water  ;  if,  as  is  probable,  she  was 
born  some  time  before  Wulfhere  became  king, 
she  would  then  be  between  twenty-eight  and 
thirty.  At  the  landing-stage  was  her  great- 
aunt  with  her  nuns,  in  black  habits  with  white 
veils  ;  and  no  sooner  had  Werburga  descended 
from  the  boat  than  they  struck  up  the  'Te 
Deum^  and  advanced,  leading  the  way,  singing, 
to  their  wooden  church. 


270     Zbc  XOiVQirx  Salute  an^  /iDart^s 

Now  followed  the  usual  trials  :  Werburga 
was  first  stripped  of  her  costly  apparel,  her 
coronet  was  exchanged  for  a  linen  veil,  purple 
and  silks  were  replaced  by  a  coarse  woollen 
habit,  and  she  resigned  herself  into  the  hands 
of  her  superior,  her  great-aunt,  S.  Etheldreda. 

We  know  the  form  of  the  ceremonial,  and 
the  prayers  used  on  such  an  occasion,  but  we 
do  not  know  who  the  bishop  was  who  conse- 
crated Werburga.^  She  was  led  to  the  foot 
of  the  altar,  after  the  reading  of  the  Gospel, 
and  was  then  asked  for  two  public  engagements 
which  were  indispensable  to  the  validity  of  the 
act  :  in  the  first  place,  the  consent  of  her 
parents,  and  in  the  next  her  own  promise  of 
obedience  to  himself  and  his  successors.  When 
this  had  been  done  he  laid  his  hands  upon  her 
to  bless  her  and  consecrate  her  to  God.  After 
prayers  he  placed  the  veil  on  her  head,  saying, 
*'  Maiden,  receive  this  veil,  and  mayest  thou 
bear  it  stainless  to  the  tribunal  of  Christ  before 
whom  bends  every  knee  in  heaven  and  on 
earth." 

By   the    rules    of  the   Anglo-Saxon    Church 

1  Probably  Seaxwulf,  the  Mercian  bishop. 


%.  Merbur^a  271 

the  taking  of  the  irrevocable  vows  was  not 
suffered  till  the  postulant  had  reached  her 
twenty-sixth  year,  but  we  cannot  be  sure  that 
this  rule  prevailed  so  early.  The  Celtic 
Church  allowed  it  at  the  age  of  twelve. 

When  Wulfhere  died,  then  Werburga's 
mother  came  also  to  Ely,  and  on  the  death  of 
S.  Etheldreda,  in  679,  her  grandmother 
Sexburga,  widow  of  Ercombert,  king  of  Kent, 
became  abbess,  and  ruled  till  699,  when  she 
died,  whereupon  Werburga's  mother  succeeded. 
At  one  time  three  generations  of  princesses  of 
the  blood  of  Hengest  and  Odin  were  seen 
together  in  the  peaceful  isle  of  Ely,  wearing 
the  same  monastic  habit,  and  bowing  in  prayer 
in  the  same  wooden  church.  Werburga  lived 
long  and  happily  as  a  simple  nun  under  her 
grandmother's  and  mother's  kindly  rule  and 
direction,  till,  on  her  mother's  death,  she  was 
summoned  to  take  the  place  of  abbess. 

It  is  very  important  for  us  to  understand 
what  was  the  moving  principle  at  this  period 
which  led  to  the  foundation  of  so  many 
religious  settlements.  The  Saxons  and  Angles 
had    been    a   people  living  in  war,  loving  war. 


2  72     XTbe  Dirgin  Saints  anb  /IDatt^ts 

and  regarding  the  cutting  of  throats  and  the 
destruction  by  fire  of  every  house  and  city 
as  the  highest  vocation  of  a  man.  But  when 
they  had  occupied  the  greatest  portion  of 
Britain,  and  further,  when  they  had  embraced 
Christianity,  a  change  took  place  in  their 
opinions.  They  came  to  see  that  there  was 
some  charm  in  peace,  and  dignity  in  the 
cultivation  of  the  soil.  But  it  was  only  after 
a  struggle  that  they  could  stoop  to  take 
hold  of  the  plough  and  lay  aside  the  spear. 
They  could  be  brought  to  this  only  by  example, 
and  it  was  this  which  the  monks  and  nuns 
issuing  from  their  own  princely,  royal  families 
showed  them. 

"  In  the  monastic  movement  of  this  time," 
says  Mr.  Green,  ''  two  strangely  contrasted 
impulses  worked  together  to  change  the  very 
aspect  of  the  new  England  and  the  new  English 
society.  The  one  was  the  passion  for  solitude, 
the  first  outcome  of  the  religious  impulse  given 
by  the  conversion  ;  a  passion  for  communing 
apart  with  themselves  and  with  God  which 
drove  men  into  waste  and  woodland  and 
desolate  fen.     The  other  was   the  equally  new 


S»  Metburga  273 

passion  for  social  life  on  the  part  of  the  nation 
at  large,  the  outcome  of  its  settlement  and 
well-doing  on  the  conquered  soil,  and  yet  more 
of  the  influence  of  the  new  religion,  coming  as 
it  did  from  the  social  civilisation  of  the  older 
world,  and  insensibly  drawing  men  together 
by  the  very  form  of  its  worship  and  its  belief. 
The  sanctity  of  the  monastic  settlements  served 
in  these  early  days  of  the  new  religion  to 
ensure  for  them  peace  and  safety  in  the  midst 
of  whatever  war  or  social  trouble  might  be 
disturbing  the  country  about  them  ;  and  the 
longing  for  a  life  of  quiet  industry,  which  we 
see  telling  from  this  moment  upon  the  older 
English  longing  for  war,  drew  men  in  crowds 
to  these  so-called  monasteries."  ^ 

Wulfhere  was  succeeded  in  675  by  his 
brother  Ethelred,  a  quiet,  unambitious  king, 
who  devoted  his  energies  to  the  foundation  of 
monasteries,  dotting  them  about  Mercia  with 
the  object  of  softening  and  civilising  a  people 
that  had  the  instincts  of  the  beasts  of  prey. 
He  entrusted  his  niece  Werburga  with  a  sort 

^  Green,    The  Making    of  E?igland ;    ed.    1897,    ii. 
p.   III. 

18 


2  74     Ubc  ViVQin  Saints  anb  /IDarti^ts 

of  general  supremacy  over  all  the  nunneries 
in  his  kingdom.  She  visited  them,  regulated 
them,  and  brought  them  into  order,  before  her 
mother's  death  and  her  own  appointment  to 
the  abbacy  of  Ely.  Thus  she  resided  for  a 
while  at  the  head  of  the  communities  of 
Weedon,  Trentham,  and  Hanbury. 

One  incident  of  her  story  may  be  quoted. 

It  happened  that  a  shepherd  at  Weedon  was 
being  brutally  maltreated  by  the  steward.  The 
daughter  of  a  king  flew  to  the  spot,  threw 
herself  between  the  overseer  and  the  poor  wretch 
he  was  beating  and  kicking,  and  arrested  his 
arm  and  thrust  him  back,  and  held  him  from 
his  victim,  till  his  passion  subsided,  and  he 
retired  shamefaced. 

Werburga  died  at  a  ripe  age  at  Trentham, 
on  February  3rd,  699. 

Two  centuries  later,  in  order  to  save  her 
remains  from  the  Danes,  they  were  conveyed 
to  Chester,  where  there  was  a  collegiate  church 
that  had  been  founded  by  her  father  at  her 
request.  Her  body  was,  however,  laid  in 
what  is  now  the  Cathedral. 


XV 
A   PROPHE'TESS 


^s 


XV 
A  PROPHEIESS 

AMONG  the  most  remarkable  people  of 
the  twelfth  century,  one  who  stood  forth 
on  the  stage  of  history  and  exercised  there 
a  part  of  no  little  importance,  Hildegarde,  is 
not  to  be  passed  over.  Yet,  when  one  comes 
to  study  her,  she  is  a  person  who  strikes  the 
student  with  perplexity.  She  was,  indeed,  a 
woman  possible  at  all  times,  but  only  possible 
as  one  of  significance  in  the  century  in  which 
she  lived. 

She  was  one  of  those  marvellous  women 
who,  indeed,  occupied  a  somewhat  analogous 
place  among  the  ancient  pagan  Germans — a 
seeress,  a  prophetess,  even  a  priestess,  like 
Velleda  or  Ganna.  She  took  up  the  same 
position  in  the  Christian  Middle  Ages,  directed, 

ruled,  foretold,  threatened,  and  was  listened  to 
277 


2  78     tTbe  DivQin  Saints  anb  /Iftart^rs 

in  all  seriousness.  Popes,  prelates,  kings  con- 
sulted her,  and  all  quailed  at  her  threats  and 
denunciations.  She  saw  visions  and  dreamed 
dreams  ;  she  endeavoured  to  throw  rays  of 
light  to  illumine  the  past  as  well  as  the  future. 
She  thought  with  her  inspired  eye  to  unveil 
the  mysteries  of  creation.  Uneducated,  she 
dictated  in  Latin ;  uninstructed,  she  wrote 
on  natural  history  ;  unordained,  she  preached 
sermons  even  to  popes. 

All  kinds  of  people  wrote  to  her  on  all 
kinds  of  subjects,  and  she  solved  their  diffi- 
culties, advised  them  in  their  perplexities, 
illumined  their  ignorance. 

She  has  had  imitators  in  all  after  ages — Antoi- 
nette Bourgignon,  Joanna  Southcott,  Kriidner, 
and  Madame  Blavatski — but  none  achieved  such 
success,  exercised  so  wide  an  influence,  was 
treated  with  so  much  submission. 

The  Emperor,  the  princes,  the  nobility,  the 
clergy,  the  people  all  believed  in  her  prophetic 
power,  and  accepted  her  commands  without  a 
murmur.  Her  warnings  and  promises  were 
received  as  divine  revelations,  although  she 
spared  no  one  in  her  denunciations. 


H  B>topbetess  279 

The  cause  for  this  unbounded  respect  has 
been  a  matter  of  dispute,  but  is  still  inexplicable. 
That  she  was  a  coarse  deceiver,  who  imposed 
herself  on  the  people  as  inspired,  by  a  long- 
continued  course  of  deception,  cannot  for  a 
moment  be  allowed  by  such  as  without  preju- 
dice examine  her  writings  and  her  conduct. 
She  was  made  a  tool  of,  and  a  willing  tool, 
by  S.  Bernard,  to  further  the  crusade  he  had 
at  heart.  But  when,  in  spite  of  prophecy  and 
promise,  that  crusade  ended  in  hideous  disaster 
and  in  dishonour  as  well,  her  influence  with 
the  people  was  not  in  the  least  shaken. 

At  the  court  of  Count  Meginhard  of  Span- 
heim  lived  the  knight  Hildebert  of  Bockelheim, 
his  kinsman.  Hildebert's  wife  Mathilda  bore 
him  in  1098  a  daughter,  who  was  named  Hilde- 
garde,  on  their  estate  a  little  above  Kreuznach 
on  the  Rhine.  She  was  the  tenth  child,  and 
her  parents  were  no  little  concerned  how  to 
provide  for  such  a  fry.  The  simple  expedient 
in  those  days  was  to  send  some  of  the  family 
into  monasteries  and  convents.  From  an  early 
date  Hildegarde  was  destined  to  be  a  nun. 
She,    together  with    her   kinswoman  Chiltrude, 


28o     XTbe  mvQin  Saints  an^  /Iftatti^re 

the  daughter  of  the  count,  were  sent  to  be 
reared  by  Jutta,  the  abbess  of  S.  Disibod, 
a  sister  of  Count  Meginhard.  Jutta  was  an 
uneducated  woman  ;  learning  was  of  no  account 
in  her  convent,  and  Hildegarde  was  brought 
up  in  ignorance  of  nearly  everything  that  a 
young  woman  of  good  family  ought  to  have 
acquired  even  in  the  twelfth  century. 

That  Hildegarde  was  hysterical  cannot  be 
doubted,  but  hysteria  is  precisely  the  most 
mysterious  of  all  ailments.  The  phenomena 
connected  with  it  are  the  perplexity  of  physi- 
cians even  at  this  day.  Many  and  ponderous 
works  have  been  written  upon  it  in  England, 
France  especially,  and  Germany,  but  it  remains 
still  an  unsolved  puzzle. 

From  a  very  early  age  she  saw  visions,  and 
when  she  spoke  of  them  to  her  playfellows, 
and  they  stared  at  her  and  did  not  appear 
to  comprehend  what  she  said,  she  shrank  into 
herself  and  refrained  from  communicating  to 
others  the  things  that  she  saw  and  heard,  or 
fancied  she  saw  and  heard.  Even  at  the  age 
of  five,  this  singular  gift  was  noticed  by  her 
parents,  who  could  not  understand  it.      Jutta 


H  iptopbetess  281 

made  the  girl  learn  the  Psalms  in  Latin,  and 
she  obtained  some  glimmer  of  an  idea  what 
the  words  meant,  but  she  did  not  even  acquire 
a  knowledge  of  the  alphabet,  nor  that  of  reading 
music. 

Hildegarde  was  constantly  unwell,  but  her 
aches  and  pains  were  apparently  due  to  hysteria 
and  nothing  else,  and  the  suppressed  desire  to 
be  doing  something,  making  her  personality 
felt,  which  was  impossible  as  she  was  situated. 
When,  finally,  she  was  bidden  write  down  her 
visions,  at  once  all  her  maladies  left  her. 

"  When,  on  one  occasion,  I  was  very  much 
exhausted  by  my  sickness,"  says  she  in  her 
own  biography  of  herself,  ^'  I  asked  the  nurse 
who  attended  me  whether  she  saw  things  in 
any  other  way  than  with  her  eyes  ;  she  made 
me  no  answer.  Then  I  was  frightened,  and 
I  dared  say  no  more  about  it  to  any  one. 
But  sometimes,  inadvertently,  when  I  was 
talking,  I  let  slip  prophetic  sentences.  And 
when  I  was,  so  to  say,  full  of  this  inner  vision, 
then  I  spoke  much  which  was  quite  unin- 
telligible to  those  about  me.  And  when  the 
force  of  the  ecstasy  grew,  and  I  spoke  some- 


282     Ube  IDtrgtn  Saints  anb  /flbatti^rs 

thing  about  it,  more  after  the  manner  of  a 
child  than  of  a  girl  of  my  years,  then  I  blushed 
and  cried,  and  wished  heartily  that  I  had  held 
my  tongue.  But  out  of  dread  of  what  would 
be  said,  I  never  dared  to  speak  out  openly 
as  to  what  I  saw.  However  (Jutta)  the  noble 
lady  with  whom  I  was  had  cognisance  of  this 
and  consulted  a  monk  of  her  acquaintance." 

To  one  in  this  condition,  plenty  of  exercise, 
wholesome  food,  and  hard  work,  and  her 
head  under  the  pump  if  she  gave  way  to 
her  fancies,  would  have  been  proper  treatment. 
But  in  the  twelfth  century  no  one  had  any 
conception  that  hysteria  was  a  physical  dis- 
order. 

Jutta  died  in  1136,  and  by  unanimous  vote 
of  the  sisters  Hildegarde  was  elected  to  be 
superior  of  the  convent,  when  aged  eight-and- 
thirty.  She  had  now  full  opportunity  to  give 
way  to  her  desire  to  take  that  prominent 
place  to  which  she  felt  she  was  called.  Two 
years,  however,  elapsed  before  she  had  made  up 
her  mind  to  write  her  visions  and  prophecies. 
There  were  difficulties  in  her  way  :  she  could 
not  write,  she  knew  nothing  of  grammar,  and 


H  ipropbetess  283 

she  was  perhaps  dubious  how  the  world  would 
accept  revelations  which  were  in  shockingly- 
bad  grammar  and  spelling,  and  displayed  pro- 
found ignorance  of  the  real  meaning  of 
Scripture.  However,  she  consulted  one  of 
the  monks  of  the  monastery  of  S.  Disibod, 
and  he  put  the  matter  before  the  rest. 

Now,  as  she  was  evidently  sincere,  and  there 
could  be  no  suspicion  that  Hildegarde  was 
deceiving  them,  they  had  to  decide  whether 
these  visions  were  from  heaven  or  from  hell. 
That  there  was  a  third  alternative  never  for 
an  instant  occurred  to  them  :  it  could  not,  in 
the  nature  of  things,  in  the  then  condition 
of  medical  science,  or  rather  ignorance.  Mani- 
festly there  was  nothing  bad  in  these  revela- 
tions, consequently  the  poor  amiable  monks 
were  compelled  to  decide  that  they  came 
from  God. 

The  difficulty  now  arose  how  they  were  to 
be  published.  It  was  obviously  impossible  to 
issue  to  the  world  the  farrago  of  grammatic 
blunders,  and  the  confused  nonsense  of  much 
that  poured  from  her  lips,  and  so  she  was  given 
secretaries  to  write  down  in  decent  Latin  what 


284     Ube  \OivQin  Saints  anb  /iDarti^rs 

they  supposed  she  meant  to  say.  The  Arch- 
bishop Henry  of  Mayence  was  called  in  before 
the  decisive  step  was  taken.  He  was  an 
amiable,  peace-loving,  but  feeble  man,  who 
was  made  archbishop  in  1142.  He  gave  his 
verdict  in  favour  of  the  revelations. 

Hildegarde  says  of  herself:  "In  1141,  when 
I  was  forty-two  years  old  and  seven  months, 
there  came  on  me  a  dazzling  light  from  heaven, 
and  flashed  through  my  brains  and  heart  and 
bosom.  It  was  like  a  flame  that  does  not 
burn,  but  warms,  just  like  a  sunbeam.  From 
thenceforth  I  had  the  gift  of  the  interpretation 
of  the  Scriptures,  the  Psalms,  the  Gospels, 
and  the  books  of  the  Old  and  New  Testament. 
I  had,  however,  no  understanding  of  the 
several  words  of  the  text,  as  to  their  syllables 
and  cases  and  tenses.  When  I  have  my  visions 
— and  I  have  had  them  from  childhood — I  am 
not  asleep,  nor  feverish,  nor  am  I  necessarily 
in  retirement,  nor  do  I  see  with  my  bodily 
eyes,  but  with  those  of  my  soul."  Later  she 
wrote  :  "I  am  always  in  a  fear  and  tremble, 
as  I  have  no  certainty  within  me.  But  I  lift 
up  my  hands  to  heaven,  and   allow   myself  to 


H  ipropbetess  285 

be  blown  about  just  like  a  feather  in  the 
wind." 

Her  first  book  was  called  by  her  Scivias  ; 
which  was  her  contraction  for  Disce  vias 
Domini^  "  know  the  ways  of  the  Lord."  Pro- 
bably only  the  first  part  of  it  was  sent  to 
the  Archbishop  of  Mayence,  who  gravely  called 
his  clergy  into  consultation  over  it.  Then, 
when  Pope  Eugenius  III.  came  to  Treves  on 
his  way  to  the  Council  of  Rheims,  he  was 
shown  it  by  the  archbishop ;  he  gave  it  to 
to  the  Bishop  of  Verdun  and  other  theologians 
to  be  examined.  Afterwards,  on  their  report, 
at  the  Council  in  1148,  he  read  it  himself  to 
the  bishops  there  assembled,  and  it  was  received 
with  applause. 

S.  Bernard  was  present,  and  he  at  once  saw 
how  much  assistance  he  could  get  in  promoting 
his  darling  object,  a  new  crusade,  if  he  could 
enlist  Hildegarde  in  the  cause  ;  and  he  urged 
the  pope  to  sanction  and  bless  the  prophetess. 
This  Eugenius  did  in  a  letter,  in  which  he 
accorded  her  his  full  permission  to  publish 
whatever  was  revealed  to  her.  He  could 
hardly   do   other.      These   writings   were   well 


286     xrbe  IDtr^tn  Saints  an^  /IDart^rs 

intended,  purported  to  do  good,  and  that  these 
visions  and  prophecies  were  the  mere  halluci- 
nations of  a  diseased  mind  never  could  have 
been  supposed  at  the  time. 

Hildegarde  now  shifted  her  quarters. 
Troops  of  women  had  come  to  place  themselves 
under  her  direction,  drawn  by  her  fame. 
She  settled  on  S.  Ruprechtsberg,  near  Bingen, 
where  a  suitable  convent  was  erected  for  her. 

But  the  good  monks  of  S.  Disibod  asked 
a  favour  of  her  which  she  could  not  refuse. 
They  knew  next  to  nothing  about  their  founder, 
except  that  he  was  one  of  the  many  Irish  who 
had  left  their  native  isle  in  the  fifth  century 
and  had  spread  over  Germany  and  Gaul. 
Would  she  through  her  prophetic  power,  which 
looked  backwards  as  well  as  forwards,  write 
them  ''  by  revelation  "  a  life  of  their  founder  ? 

This  she  accordingly  did,  and  the  life  she 
wrote  was,  she  insists,  given  her  "  by  revelation.** 
It  is  a  long  and  tedious  work,  a  gush  of  weak 
and  watery  verbiage.  When  reduced  to  its 
elementary  constituents,  it  is  found  to  consist  of 
absolutely  nothing  more  than  what  was  already 
known — that  Disibod  came  from  Ireland,  settled 


H  propbetess  287 

on  the  mount  that  bore  his  name  afterwards, 
and  died  there.  But  this  was  distended  into  a 
tract  of  6,250  words. 

Hildegarde's  ''  Natural  History "  is  a  very- 
funny  book.  She  did  not  pretend  to  derive 
her  knowledge  of  the  property  of  things  from 
inspiration,  but  there  can  be  little  doubt  that, 
at  the  time  when  it  was  issued,  those  who  re- 
garded her  prophecies  as  infallible,  looked  also 
on  her  enunciation  of  the  properties  of  natural 
objects  as  inspired. 

She  begins  the  book  by  likening  the  world 
to  a  human  body  :  the  earth  is  the  flesh,  the 
rocks  are  the  bones,  the  moisture  of  the  stones 
is  the  marrow,  the  slate  rocks  are  the  toe  and 
finger  nails,  the  plants  are  the  hair,  and  the  dew 
is  the  perspiration.  All  plants  are  either  hot 
or  cold  ;  so  also  are  all  animals.  This  is  the 
radical  division  between  them.  The  recipes 
given  are  profoundly  silly.  For  a  boil,  house- 
flies  are  to  be  taken,  their  heads  cut  off,  and 
they  are  to  be  arranged  like  herrings  in  a  barrel 
round  the  swelling.  A  poultice  is  to  cover 
all — but  it  is  the  flies  that  bring  the  gathering 
to    a    head.      Here  is    one    of  the  shortest  of 


288     XTbe  DivQin  Saints  anb  /[Darters 

her  botanical  accounts — that  of  the  meadow 
convolvulus.  *'  The  herb  is  cold,  it  has 
not  great  powers  nor  is  it  of  much  use.  But 
if  a  man's  nails  get  scaly  and  crack,  then  let 
him  grind  up  the  convolvulus,  mix  with  it 
a  little  quicksilver  and  lay  it  on  his  nails, 
tie  a  bit  of  rag  round,  and  his  nails  will  be 
lovely." 

Hildegarde  wrote  a  commentary  on  the  Rule 
of  S.  Benedict,  another  on  the  Athanasian  Creed. 
She  propounded  difficult  questions  in  Scripture, 
and  solved  them  by  her  inner  light,  only 
making  the  difficulties  greater,  and  always 
missing  the  simple  meaning  of  a  passage. 

S.  Hildegarde  had  her  troubles.  She  did  not 
get  on  very  well  with  the  Archbishops  of 
Mayence.  At  the  instigation  of  S.  Bernard  she 
inflamed  the  minds  of  the  people  with  a  fever  of 
zeal  against  the  Saracens,  and  exhorted  to  a 
crusade.  This  resulted  in  a  frightful  massacre  of 
Jews  at  Mayence,  instigated  by  a  monk  named 
Badulf.  The  Archbishop  Henry,  a  mild,  ami- 
able man,  did  what  he  could  to  protect  the 
unfortunate  Israelites,  and  opened  to  them  his 
palace.     But    a    papal    legate    appeared   on    the 


U  ipropbetes^  289 

scene,  and  the  Chapter  induced  him  to  depose 
the  archbishop.  He  appealed  to  Rome,  but 
the  cardinals  were  bribed  to  declare  against 
him.  He  had  chosen  his  confidential  friend, 
Arnold  of  Selnhofen,  to  take  what  money  he 
could  scrape  together  to  Rome  and  plead  his 
cause.  Arnold  made  the  most  solemn  assur- 
ances of  fidelity,  and  betrayed  his  trust.  He 
used  the  money  entrusted  to  him  to  purchase 
the  deposition  of  his  friend  and  his  own  advance- 
ment. 

The  people  of  Mayence  were  greatly  incensed 
against  Arnold,  who  was  thrust  on  them  by  the 
pope  himself,  without  election  by  the  Chapter, 
and  was  invested  by  the  pope  the  same  day 
on  which  the  friend  was  degraded  whom  he  had 
betrayed.  On  reaching  Mayence  Arnold  did 
nothing  to  appease  the  popular  resentment ; 
his  court  was  magnificent,  his  servants  were 
splendidly  liveried,  and  his  table  was  noted 
for  its  luxury.  Knowing  what  a  power  Hilde- 
garde  was  in  the  diocese,  he  wrote  a  hypo- 
critical, canting  letter  to  her,  beseeching  her 
prayers.  She  replied  with  a  sharp  admonition  : 
*'  The  living  Light  saith  unto  thee,  Thou  hast 

19 


290     tTbe  X>iVQin  Saints  anb  /IDartyrs 

a  form  of  zeal  only,  which  I  hate.  Cleanse 
restlessness  from  thy  soul,  and  cease  from 
doing  injustice  to  thy  people.  Rise  up  and 
turn  to  the  Lord,  for  the  time  cometh  speedily.'' 
Seeing  the  ferment  of  men's  minds  increase, 
Arnold  resolved  on  leaving  Bingen,  where  he 
then  was,  to  go  into  his  cathedral  city  and  put 
down  all  resistance  with  a  high  hand.  He  pur- 
posed lodging  the  first  night  in  the  monastery 
of  S.  James,  outside  the  walls.  Hildegarde 
warned  him  of  his  danger,  but  he  would  not 
listen.  A  friend,  the  abbot  of  Erbach,  also 
cautioned  him.  "  Bah  !  "  scoffed  the  archbishop, 
''  these  Mainzers  are  dogs  ;  they  bark,  but  do 
not  bite."  When  Hildegarde  heard  this,  she 
said,  "  The  dogs  have  had  their  chains  broken, 
and  they  will  tear  you  to  pieces." 

He  scorned  these  warnings,  and  in  June 
1 1 60  went  to  the  monastery  in  which  he 
had  purposed  to  lodge.  But  he  had  rushed, 
unwittingly,  into  the  jaws  of  the  lion,  for  the 
abbot  of  S.  James  was  his  most  deadly  enemy. 
The  abbot  at  once  sent  tidings  to  the  city  that 
the  archbishop  was  there.  A  mob  poured  out 
of  the  city  gates.     The  archbishop,  hearing  the 


H  ipropbetess  291 

roar  of  their  voices  and  the  tramp  of  their  feet, 
was  paralysed  with  fear  ;  the  rioters  entered  the 
abbey,  rushed  upon  him,  and  a  butcher  split 
his  head  with  an  axe.  The  dead  body  was 
dragged  forth  and  cast  into  a  ditch,  where 
the  peasant  women,  coming  to  market,  pelted 
it  with  rotten  eggs  and  bad  cheese. 

In  1 1 50  Christian  was  archbishop,  but  he 
was  in  Italy.  He  was  a  man  of  arms,  who 
loved  fighting,  and  had  no  relish  for  the  duties 
of  his  position.  During  his  absence  Hildegarde 
got  into  difficulties  with  the  administrator  of 
the  see.  A  certain  young  man  had  been  buried 
in  the  cemetery  attached  to  her  monastery 
who  had  incurred  excommunication.  An 
order  was  sent  her  to  dig  the  body  up  and 
throw  it  out  of  consecrated  ground.  This 
she  refused  to  do.  She  insisted  that  the 
young  fellow  had  been  absolved  and  had 
received  the  last  sacraments,  and  she  furnished 
a  vision  in  which  she  had  been  forbidden  to 
exhume  the  body.  But  the  administrator  did 
not  repose  such  confidence  in  her  visions  as 
to  submit.  An  interdict  was  laid  on  her 
convent,    so    that    the  sisters    were    forbidden 


292     XTbe  WvQin  Saints  an^  /Il>att^r9 

to  recite  their  offices  and  to  have  the  sacraments 
administered  there. 

No  priest  in  the  diocese  dared  disobey, 
and  the  whole  convent  was  struck  with 
paralysis.  Hildegarde  wrote,  but  could  obtain 
no  concession.  Then  she  appealed  to  the 
military  bishop,  who  was  in  Italy.  The 
administrator  sent  his  account  of  the  affair, 
and  the  interdict  was  renewed.  So  time  passed. 
Hildegarde  still  obstinately,  and  rightly,  refused 
to  have  the  body  dug  up  and  cast  to  the  dogs. 
She  wrote  again  to  the  archbishop,  and  finally 
obtained  a  removal  of  the  interdict.  As  she 
complained,  there  had  been  no  investigation 
into  the  facts — it  had  been  a  party  move  of 
spite  against  herself. 

Although  in  1170  Hildegarde  was  aged 
seventy-two,  her  literary  energy  did  not  fail. 
She  still  composed  treatises,  and  continued  to 
write  letters  in  answer  to  those  she  received,  or 
to  thunder  against  those  persons  whose  conduct 
deserved  reprobation.  Her  correspondence 
extended  from  Bremen  and  the  Netherlands,  to 
Rome,  and  even  to  Jerusalem.  Her  denuncia- 
tions of  abuses,  corruptions  in  the  Church,  were 


H  propbetess 


293 


outspoken,  and  she  even  prophesied  the  fall 
of  the  empire  and  a  reformation  in  religion  ; 
but  the  condition  of  affairs  both  in  the  state 
and  in  Christendom  were  so  bad,  that  it 
required  but  little  foresight  to  tell  that  such 
could   not    possibly   last  without  a  convulsion. 

Her  style  is  not  without  a  certain  amount 
of  rude  eloquence,  but  is  involved.  Those 
who  took  down  her  words  were  clearly  not 
always  able  to  make  out  the  drift  of  what 
she  said ;  but,  indeed,  she  herself  probably 
could  not  wholly  explain  them.  The  words 
poured  forth  in  a  stream,  rolling  her  ideas 
about  in  confusion,  and  she  was  impatient 
of  her  secretaries  meddling  over-much  with 
her  revelations  and  prophecies,  lest  they 
should  make  sense  indeed,  but  at  the  expense 
of  their  genuine  character. 

She  had  one  of  those  eager,  restless  minds, 
which  at  the  present  day  would  have  made 
of  her  a  platform  oratress,  a  vehement  writer 
in  magazines,  and  a  reformer  on  school  and 
hospital  boards  :  always  vehement  with  purpose. 
Her  activity,  as  already  said,  took  several 
directions — that   of  exhortation  to   repentance 


294     XTbe  IDitQtn  Saints  anb  /IDart^rs 

and  good  works,  that  of  deep  theological 
research,  and  of  Scriptural  interpretation,  that 
also  of  the  study  of  Natural  History.  But 
she  did  more  than  that  :  she  wrote  hymns  and 
composed  melodies.  She  had  never  been 
taught  musical  science  as  then  understood. 
That  was  no  loss  to  her.  Her  airs  are  as 
rambling  and  incoherent  as  her  prophecies. 

She  also  pretended  to  speak  in  an  unknown 
tongue,  and  to  be  able  to  interpret  this 
language.  The  study  of  this  pretended  new 
language  is  suggestive  and  amusing.  It  has 
been  taken  in  hand  by  Grimm,  Pitra  and  Roth. 
It  presents  an  amusing  jumble  of  words 
German,  Latin,  and  misunderstood  Hebrew. 

Hildegarde  died  at  the  age  of  eighty-two, 
in  1 179.  She  has  not  been  formally  canonised  ; 
she  is,  however,  inserted  as  a  saint  in  the 
Roman  kalendar  on  September  17th,  the  day 
of  her  death. 


XVI 
S.    CLJRJ 


295 


S.    CLARA. 


XVI 
S.    CLARA 

IT  has  been  often  remarked  how  that  a  saint 
who  initiates  a  reform,  or  does  some  great 
work,  has  a  faithful  woman  to  assist,  or  carry 
on  his  work,  and  complete  it.  What  he  de- 
signed for  all  alike,  he  was  competent  only 
to  apply  to  men,  and  she  carried  out  his  ideas 
among  women.  Thus  S.  Bridget  supplemented 
the  achievements  of  S.  Patrick,  and  S.  Hilda 
those  of  S.  Aidan.  Benedict's  twin  sister 
Scholastica  worked  side  by  side  with  her 
brother  ;  and,  as  we  shall  now  see,  S.  Clara  was 
the  spiritual  sister  and  helpmate  of  S.  Francis. 
The  moon,  according  to  David,  is  an  ever 
faithful  witness  in  heaven  ;  and  yet  the  moon 
wanes  and  for  a  time  disappears.     The    moon 

much  resembles  the  Church. 

297 


298     XTbe  ViVQin  Saints  an^  /IDart^ts 

"The  moon  above,  the  Church  below, 
A  wondrous  race  they  run ; 
And  all  their  radiance,  all  their  glow, 
Each  borrows  from  its  sun." 

As  the  moon  wanes,  so  there  are  periods 
when  the  Church  proves  dull,  dark,  and 
without  much  token  of  spiritual  life  ;  but  this 
is  for  a  time  only,  and  precedes  a  restoration 
of  illumination.  The  period  when  S.  Francis 
appeared  was  one  of  those  of  darkness  in  the 
Church.  The  enthusiastic  faith  of  the  barbarian 
kings  and  nobles,  bred  of  the  self-devotion  and 
earnestness  of  the  first  missionaries  among 
them,  had  led  to  their  endowing  the  Church 
largely.  This  was  done  to  enable  her  to  carry 
on  the  great  work  of  evangelisation  without 
care  for  the  material  concerns  of  life.  But  it 
led  to  an  unfortunate  result.  As  the  bishoprics 
were  wealthy,  and  seats  of  power,  ambitious 
and  greedy  men  of  the  noble  class  rushed  into 
Holy  Orders  for  the  sake  of  these  material 
advantages,  and  in  entire  disregard  of  the 
religious  responsibilities  attached  to  such 
offices.  And  as  with  the  prelates,  so  with 
the   clergy.     They  seemed  to  think   that   the 


5.  Clata  299 

things  of  Jesus  Christ  were  best  served  by 
making  themselves  comfortable  ;  they  were 
ignorant,  careless,  and  worldly.  The  great 
ecclesiastics  made  a  display  of  their  wealth, 
and  exercised  their  power  tyrannically.  "  The 
Church  might  still  seem  to  preach  to  all," 
says  Dean  Milman ;  *'  but  it  preached  in  a 
tone  of  lofty  condescension,  it  dictated  rather 
than  persuaded  ;  but,  in  general,  actual  preach- 
ing had  fallen  into  disuse  ;  it  was  in  theory 
the  special  privilege  of  the  bishops,  and  the 
bishops  were  but  few  who  had  either  the  gift, 
the  inclination,  or  the  leisure  from  their  secular, 
judicial,  or  warlike  occupations  to  preach  even 
in  their  cathedral  cities  ;  in  the  rest  of  their 
dioceses  their  presence  was  but  occasional — 
a  progress  or  visitation  of  pomp  and  form, 
rather  than  of  popular  instruction.  The  only 
general  teaching  of  the  people  was  the  ritual. 
"  But  the  splendid  ritual,  admirably  as  it  was 
constituted  to  impress  by  its  words  or  symbolic 
forms  the  leading  truths  of  Christianity  upon 
the  more  intelligent,  or  in  a  vague  way  upon 
the  more  rude  and  uneducated,  could  be  ad- 
ministered, and  was  administered,  by  a  priest- 


300     XTbe  VivQin  Saints  anb  /Hbarti^rs 

hood  almost  entirely  ignorant,  but  which  had 
learned  mechanically,  not  without  decency, 
perhaps  not  without  devotion,  to  go  through 
the  stated  observances.  Everywhere  the  bell 
summoned  to  the  frequent  service,  the  service 
was  performed,  and  the  obedient  flock  gathered 
to  the  chapel  or  the  church,  knelt,  and  either 
performed  their  orisons  or  heard  the  customary 
chant  and  prayer.  This,  the  only  instruction 
which  the  mass  of  the  priesthood  could  convey, 
might  for  a  time  be  sufficient  to  maintain  in 
the  minds  of  the  people  a  quiescent  and  sub- 
missive faith,  nevertheless,  in  itself,  could  not 
but    awaken    in    some   a  desire  of  knowledge, 

which  it  could  not  satisfy And  just  at 

this  time  the  popular  mind  throughout  Christen- 
dom seemed  to  demand  instruction.  There  was 
a  wide  and  vague  awakening  and  yearning  of 
the  human  intellect.  Here  that  which  was 
heresy  stepped  in  and  seized  upon  the  vacant 
mind.  Preaching  in  public  and  in  private  was 
the  strength  of  all  the  heresiarchs,  of  all  the 
sects.  Eloquence,  popular  eloquence,  became 
a  new  power  which  the  Church  had  compara- 
tively neglected  or  disdained,  since  the  time  of  the 


S»  Clara  301 

Crusades.  The  Patropassians,  the  Henricians, 
the  followers  of  Peter  Waldo,  and  the  wilder 
teachers  at  least,  tinged  with  the  old  Manichasan 
tenets  of  the  East,  met  on  this  common  ground. 
They  were  poor  and  popular  ;  they  felt  with 
the  people,  whether  the  lower  burghers  of  the 
cities,  the  lower  vassals,  or  even  the  peasants 
and  serfs  ;  they  spoke  the  language  of  the 
people,  they  were  of  the  people.  All  these 
sects  were  bound  together  by  their  common 
aversion  to  the  clergy — not  only  the  wealthy, 
worldly,  immoral,  tyrannical,  but  the  decent 
yet  inert  priesthood,  who  left  the  uninstructcd 
souls  of  men  to  perish."  ^ 

It  was  when,  apparently,  the  bulk  of  the 
population  was  hesitating  whether  to  break 
away  from  the  Church,  and  when  certain  ardent 
spirits  began  to  question  whether  the  Church 
could  be  the  Kingdom  of  God,  wherein  ap- 
peared so  much  of  evil,  that  almost  simul- 
taneously two  men  stood  forth  to  arrest  the  evil. 
The  story  was  told  afterwards  that  the  pope  in 
a  dream  had  seen  the  Church  under  the  form 
of  a    building   tottering   to    its    fall,    but  that 

^  Latin  Christianity,  1867,  vol.  vi.,  pp.  i  seq. 


302     ube  IDtratn  Saints  ant)  /iDarti^rs 

two  men  rushed  forward  and  sustained  it. 
These  men  were  Dominic  and  Francis.  The 
former  founded  an  order  of  preachers,  by 
which  Christendom  in  the  West  was  over- 
spread with  a  host  of  zealous,  active,  and 
devoted  men,  whose  function  was  popular 
instruction. 

Francis,  seeing  the  universal  greed  after 
lands  and  money,  took  the  vow  of  poverty, 
made  that  a  capital  point  in  his  institution. 
The  grasping  after  possessions  should  never 
curse  his  society,  and  he  donned,  and  made 
his  disciples  don,  the  poor,  coarse  dress  of 
the  common  labourer,  to  show  that  they  were 
to  be  ever  of  the  people,  and  for  the  people, 
even  for  the  lowest.  And  he  aimed  first  of 
all  to  encourage  piety — the  striving  of  the 
soul  after  God — and  to  show  that  within  the 
Church  that  flame  could  burn  brightest  and 
give  out  most  heat.  But  he  taught  as  well. 
It  was  due  to  his  great  desire  to  bring  home 
to  the  people  the  truth  of  the  Incarnation, 
that  he  devised  the  creche  of  Christmas,  and 
composed  the  first  Christmas  carols.  And 
he    was    a    preacher — fervent,     inspired,    con- 


S»  Clara  303 

vincing.  His  heart  so  overflowed  with  love, 
that  even  birds  and  beasts  were  attracted  to 
him,  and  his  love  extended  to  them — "  his 
sisters  and  brothers,"  as  he  termed  them. 

The  story  of  the  conversion  of  S.  Francis, 
the  wealthy  merchant's  son,  is  well  known. 
He  was  a  young  man,  just  at  the  age  when 
the  deepest  feelings  of  man's  nature  begin 
to  make  themselves  articulate.  One  evening 
he  was  revelling  with  his  companions  of  the 
same  age  with  himself.  When  supper  was 
over,  the  merry  party  dashed  out  of  the  hot, 
lighted  room  into  the  open  air.  The  dark 
indigo-blue  vault  of  heaven  overhead  was 
besprent  with  myriads  of  stars,  and  Francis 
suddenly  halted,  looked  up,  and  remained 
silent  in  contemplation  of  this  wondrous 
canopy. 

'*  What  ails  you,  Francis  ?  "    asked    one   of 
the  revellers. 

"  He    is    star-gazing    for    a    wife,"    joked 
another. 

''  Ah  !  "    said  Francis  gravely,  ''  for  a   wife 
past  all  that  your  imagination  can  conceive." 

His  soul  with  inarticulate  cravings  strained 


304     TLbc  IDitgtn  Saints  anb  /nbarti^rs 

after  something  higher  than  a  merchant's  life 
behind  a  counter,  a  nobler  life  than  revelling 
and  drunkenness.  Then  probably  he  first  con- 
ceived the  idea  of  embracing  poverty,  and  of 
devoting  his  whole  life  to  his  poor  brothers. 

The  first  great  gathering  of  the  Order  he 
founded  was  in  121 2,  and  that  same  year  saw 
the  establishment  of  a  sisterhood  in  connection 
with  the  Society.     It  came  about  thus: — 

Favorino  Scefi  was  a  man  of  noble  family 
in  Assisi,  given  to  the  profession  of  arms,  and 
a  good  swordsman  ;  his  wife,  Hortulana,  had 
presented  him  with  three  daughters,  Clara, 
Agnes,  and  Beatrix,  but  no  son. 

One  day — it  was  Palm  Sunday — in  the 
before-mentioned  year,  when  Clara  was  aged 
eighteen,  she  and  her  mother  were  present 
when  Francis  preached.  The  effect  of  his 
sermon  on  her  young  heart  was  overwhelming 
and  ineradicable.  From  this  moment  she 
resolved  to  leave  the  world  and  its  splendours, 
and  the  prospect  of  marriage,  and  to  devote  her 
whole  life  to  God  and  to  the  advancement  of 
His  kingdom. 

What  she   was    to    do,  what  God's  designs 


S»  Clara  30s 

were,  all  was  dark  before  her ;  only  in  her 
was  the  intense  longing  to  place  herself  in 
His  hands,  that  He  might  use  her  as  He  saw 
fit.  And  it  appeared  to  her  that  her  desire 
had  been  known  and  her  self-offering  accepted. 
As  already  said,  it  was  Palm  Sunday,  and 
the  custom  was  for  the  bishop  to  bless  the 
palms  that  were  presented  him  by  the  deacon, 
and  to  distribute  them  among  those  who 
came  up  in  single  file  to  the  altar  steps. 
Clara,  shy  and  retiring,  hung  back.  The 
bishop's  eye  rested  on  her.  All  at  once  he 
stepped  down  into  the  nave,  the  acolytes 
bearing  their  tapers  before  him,  and  carrying 
a  palm  branch,  he  placed  it  in  the  hands  of 
the  shrinking  maiden. 

To  her  it  was  as  a  consecration. 

In  the  evening  she  ran  to  the  chapel  of 
the  Portiuncula,  where  Francis  and  his  dis- 
ciples were  installed ;  she  fell  on  her  knees 
and  implored  to  be  received,  and  given  work 
to  do.  In  a  paroxysm  of  devotion  she  plucked 
oflF  her  little  ornaments,  and  tore  away  her 
rich  dress. 

Francis,  unable  as  he  was  unwilling  to  refuse 

20 


3o6     Ubc  X)ixQin  Saints  an^  /IDatt^rs 

her  offer  of  herself,  cast  over  her  a  coarse 
habit,  and  she  was  enrolled  in  the  ranks  of 
the  Champions  of  Poverty. 

But  where  was  the  young  girl  to  be  put  ? 
He  had  no  other  female  adherents.  He  ac- 
cordingly took  her  to  the  Benedictine  nunnery 
of  S.  Paolo,  where  she  was  to  remain  till  he 
had  considered  what  to  do  with  her. 

The  parents  of  Clara  were  indignant  and 
annoyed  when  they  learned  what  she  had  done, 
and  they  endeavoured  by  every  means  to  induce 
her  to  return  to  them.  They  even  employed 
violence.  She  escaped  from  them  to  the  altar, 
and  laid  hold  of  the  cloth  that  covered  it. 
They  tried  to  drag  her  away,  but  she  clung 
with  such  tenacity  as  to  tear  the  very  cloth 
to  which  she  clung. 

Clara  now  removed  to  another  convent  of 
Benedictins,  S.  Angelo  di  Panso,  where  she 
spent  a  fortnight  in  prayer  and  silence,  con- 
sidering the  step  she  had  taken. 

At  the  end  of  that  time  her  sister  Agnes, 
two  years  younger  than  herself,  came  and  en- 
treated to  be  allowed  to  remain  with  her.  The 
father  was  very  angry,  and  called  the  members 


S«  Clara  307 

of  the  family  together  to  consult  on  the  matter. 
Nothing,  however,  could  be  done  ;  the  two 
girls  were  resolute. 

In  the  meantime  S.  Francis  was  busy  pre- 
paring a  dwelling  for  them  near  a  little  church 
of  S.  Damian  that  he  had  restored.  When  this 
was  complete  he  removed  them  to  it.  Many 
girls  and  even  women  now  joined  the  sisters, 
and  constituted  a  little  community.  Francis 
was  appealed  to  for  a  rule  by  which  they 
might  form  their  lives,  but  this  he  was  un- 
willing to  give.  Let  them,  said  he,  take  Clara 
herself  as  their  example. 

Presently,  little  Beatrix  arrived.  She  could 
not  bear  to  be  alone  in  the  now  desolate  home, 
she  yearned  to  be  with  her  sisters.  She  also 
was  accepted.  After  the  death  of  her  husband 
Hortulana  also  joined  them,  so  that  mother 
and  daughters  were  united  again. 

As  the  fundamental  rule  of  Francis  was 
absolute  poverty,  his  brothers  were  obliged  to 
beg  their  bread.  They  went  round  the  town 
and  country  with  sacks,  asking  for  scraps  of 
food  ;  and  as  it  would  not  be  seemly  for  the 
sisters  of  the  house  at  S.   Damian  to  do  the 


3o8     XTbe  IDitQtn  Saints  anb  /iDarti^rs 

same,  the  friars  were  constrained  to  divide 
their  crusts  with  them. 

Gregory  JX.  very  sensibly  objected  to  the 
friars  going  in  and  out  of  the  convent,  and 
he  forbade  it.  *'  Very  well,"  said  Clara  ;  "  if 
holy  brothers  may  not  minister  to  us  the 
Bread  of  Life,  they  shall  not  provide  us  with 
the  bread  that  perishes,"  and  she  refused  the 
crusts  and  broken  meat  they  had  collected  on 
their  rounds.  What  was  to  be  done  ?  The 
whole  convent  would  starve.  In  a  few  days 
the  Poor  Clares  would  be  dead.  An  express 
was  sent  to  the  Pope.  Gregory  could  defy 
an  emperor,  and  that  such  an  one  as  Frederick 
Barbarossa  ;  but  he  was  no  match  for  an  obstinate 
woman.     He  gave  way. 

The  rule  imposed  on  the  sisterhood  by 
S.  Clara  was  one  of  dreary  penance.  Their 
services  in  church  were  to  be  without  music, 
even  on  the  high  festivals.  She  would  not 
allow  those  who  were  ignorant  to  learn  to 
read,  so  that  to  such  these  services  were  un- 
intelligible. 

In  fact,  extravagance  marked  all  she  did 
She    did    not    vSuffer    the  sisters  ever  to  inter- 


S*  Clara  309 

change  a  word  with  each  other  without  per- 
mission, and  they  were  all  shut  up  in  their 
convent,  which  they  might  not  leave.  It  is 
true  that  S.  Francis  did  slightly  modify  some 
of  this  severity.  But  his  own  rule  of  absolute 
poverty  was  a  mistake.  He  intended  it  as  a 
protest  against  the  money  and  land  grabbing 
which  prevailed,  not  among  laymen  only,  but 
among  ecclesiastics,  and  also  among  the  monks  ; 
but  he  went  too  far.  He  turned  his  friars 
into  mere  beggars.  If  he  had  insisted  that 
they  should  be  poor  and  work  for  their  liveli- 
hood, that  would  have  been  well  ;  but  to 
employ  them  as  tramps,  begging  from  door 
to  door,  and  sponging  on  the  honest,  hard- 
working people,  was  a  fatal  mistake,  and  led 
to  very  bad  results. 

So  also  Clara,  in  the  hope  of  keeping  her 
sisters  devoted  only  to  the  service  of  God, 
dissuaded,  nay,  forbade,  reading.  In  place  of 
cultivating  the  intellect — a  splendid  gift  of 
God — she  made  those  under  her  direction  bury 
their  talents. 

Insensibly,  the  Manichaean  heresy  had  pene- 
trated   all    minds,  and  made  men  and  women 


3IO     Ube  Dirgin  Saints  ant)  /IDatt^rs 

think  that  the  body  was  evil  and  must  be 
tortured  and  bullied,  and  all  that  was  human 
trampled  underfoot,  that  the  soul  alone  should 
be  cared  for.  The  result  was  the  production 
of  hysterical,  ecstatic  beings,  who  were  help- 
less to  do  anything  for  themselves,  and  were, 
so  far  as  their  minds  went,  idiots. 

S.  Clara's  work  would  have  been  worse  than 
useless,  positively  mischievous,  had  it  not  been 
for  one  thing.  S.  Francis,  in  order  to  extend 
religion  among  the  people,  had  instituted  a 
third  branch  of  his  institution,  of  which  the 
second  was  that  of  the  Poor  Clares.  This 
third  order  comprised  men  and  women  living 
in  the  world — in  fact,  a  great  guild  of  pious 
people,  observing  very  simple  rules,  which 
bound  all  together  in  the  service  of  God,  His 
Church,  and  the  poor  and  sick.  This  spread 
like  wildfire  :  everywhere  men  and  women, 
husbands  and  wives,  young  men  and  girls, 
rich  and  poor,  nobles  and  merchants,  day- 
labourers  and  needlewomen,  joined  this  com- 
munity, encouraged  each  other  in  good  works, 
and  learned,  by  knowing  each  other,  to  lose 
class  exclusiveness. 


©♦  Clara  311 

Inevitably  the  charge  of  the  female  members 
of  the  third  order  devolved  on  the  Poor  Clares. 
Then  other  duties  sprang  up.  There  were 
plenty  of  little  orphan  girls  adrift ;  these  had 
to  be  cared  for,  and  the  Clares  took  charge 
of  them.  The  devout  desired  to  have  their 
daughters  taught  by  them,  and  they  were 
constrained  to  open  schools, — and  thus  to 
cultivate  their  own  minds,  and  abandon  the 
rule  of  silence,  or  at  least  to  modify  it.  Con- 
sequently the  order  of  Poor  Clares  did  a  great 
deal  of  good,  but  not  in  the  way  in  which 
S.  Clara  desired. 

The  time  was  one  of  furious  intestinal  war 
in  Italy  between  the  factions  of  Guelph  and 
Ghibelline,  and  there  were  far  more  women 
than  men,  as  the  latter  had  fallen.  Children 
were  left  without  fathers,  wives  lost  their 
husbands,  girls  were  deprived  of  their  natural 
protectors,  and  the  convent  served  as  an  asylum 
for  these  unfortunates,  who  otherwise  would 
have  succumbed. 

In  1220  occurred  a  scene  bearing  some 
resemblance  to  that  of  the  last  meeting  of 
S.    Benedict    and    his    sister.      S.    Clara    felt    a 


312     trbe  IDttQtn  Saints  anb  /IDart^rs 

great  desire  to  be  with  S.  Francis  and  to  eat 
with  him ;  but  he  constantly  refused.  At 
length  his  companions,  seeing  how  this  troubled 
her,  said  to  him,  ''  Father,  it  seems  to  us  that 
this  sternness  is  not  in  accordance  with  Christian 
charity.  Pay  attention  to  Clara,  and  consent 
to  her  request.  It  is  but  a  small  thing  that 
she  desires  of  you — -just  to  eat  with  her. 
Remember  how  that,  at  your  preaching,  she 
forsook  all  that  the  world  offers." 

S.  Francis  answered,  "  As  it  is  so  in  your 
eyes,  so  let  it  be.  Let  the  feast  be  held  at 
the  Church  of  the  Portiuncula,  for  it  was  in 
that  that  she  took  the  vows." 

When  the  appointed  day  arrived,  S.  Clara 
went  forth  from  her  convent  with  one  com- 
panion, and  came  to  the  place  appointed,  and 
waited  till  Francis  should  arrive.  After  awhile 
he  appeared,  and  he  caused  their  common  meal 
to  be  prepared  on  the  grass.  He  seated  him- 
self beside  Clara,  and  one  of  his  friars  beside 
the  nun  who  had  attended  S.  Clara.  Then  all 
the  rest  of  the  company  gathered  about  them. 

During  the  first  course  S.  Francis  spoke  of 
God  so  sweetly,  so  tenderly,  that  all  were  rapt 


B.  Clata  313 

in  ecstasy,  and  forgetting  their  food,  remained 
wondering  and  thinking  only  of  God. 

When  the  repast  was  ended,  Clara  returned 
to  San  Damiani  greatly  comforted.  This  was 
her  only  meeting,  for  other  purposes  than 
those  of  ghostly  counsel,  with  her  friend  and 
father. 

S.  Francis  died  in  1226,  six  years  after  the 
meeting ;  but  Clara  lived  on  for  more  than 
a  quarter  of  a  century  after  his  decease. 

Concerning  the  austerities  practised  by 
S.  Clara  it  is  unnecessary  to  write  :  a  know- 
ledge of  them  would  provoke  disgust ;  but 
they  have  probably  been  vastly  exaggerated, 
for  had  they  been  what  is  represented,  she 
could  not  have  lived  forty-two  years  of  self- 
torture.  As  she  died  she  was  heard  murmuring 
that  she  saw  our  Lord  surrounded  with  virgins 
crowned  with  flowers,  and  that  one,  whose 
wreath  was  "  like  a  windowed  censer,"  bowed 
over  her  and  kissed  her. 

She  died  in  1257. 

We  cannot  say  of  S.  Clara  that  she  originated 
a  great  work  of  utility.  She  supplemented  the 
undertaking    of    S.     Francis,    and    carried    his 


314     XTbe  IDtrgtn  Saints  an^  /nbatti^ts 

extravagances  to  a  further  extreme.  But  she 
was  sincere,  she  held  to  her  purpose  ;  and 
although  her  foundation  was  one  void  of 
common-sense  and  right  principles,  yet,  because 
well  intended,  it  worked  itself  into  one  of 
utility,  and  continues  to  the  present  day  in 
the  Latin  Communion  doing  good  service. 


XVII 

S.    THERESA 


31S 


THERESA. 


XVII 
S.  THERESA 

THE  most  beautiful  and  pathetic  female 
figure  that  stands  out  «in  the  age  of  the 
great  convulsion  which  rent  Europe  into  two 
religious  camps,  is  that  of  Theresa  of  Avila  : 
beautiful,  because  of  her  exquisitely  pure  and 
sincere  character  and  strength  of  purpose ; 
pathetic,  because  all  her  saintliness,  all  her 
energies,  were  directed  in  a  false  channel,  and 
to  build  up  what  crumbled  to  pieces  almost 
as  soon  as  the  breath  left  her  body. 

S.  Theresa  was  born  at  Avila,  in  Spain,  in 
the  province  of  the  same  name  and  the  king- 
dom of  Castile,  151 5.  Her  parents  belonged 
to  the  class  of  gentry,  and  were  ^ well  connected, 
but  not  wealthy. 

"  To  know  Avila,"  says  Miss  G.  C.  Graham, 
317 


3i8     tibe  IDtrgtn  Saints  anb  /ll>att^ts 

in  her  book  tS^/^/^  Teresa^  ''  to  wander  through 
its  streets,  to  watch  the  sun  rise  and  set  over 
the  sombre  moorlands  beyond  the  city  walls 
— is  greatly  to  know  Teresa.  In  one  of  its 
fortress-houses,  where  on  the  shield  over  the 
gateway  the  bucklers  of  the  Davilas  were 
quartered  with  the  rampant  lion  of  the  Cepedas, 
she  was  born  and  passed  her  childhood.  In 
the  cathedral  which  looms  over  the  city  walls, 
half  church,  half  fortress,  she  worshipped  and 
gazed  with  ardent  eyes,  and  with  a  thrill  of 
wonder  and  terror,  into  the  dim  mysteries  of 
its  roof.  In  the  quiet  cloisters  of  the  Encarna- 
cion  she  passed  the  greater  part  of  her  life 
of  peace  and  contemplation.  These  time- 
stained  stones,  these  silent  cloisters — all  that 
remains  in  outward  bodily  form  of  that 
strangely  complex  age,  which  produced  her 
and  the  gentle  San  Juan  de  la  Cruz,  so  different 
from  her  in  character  and  tendencies,  together 
with  PhiUp  II.,  the  gloomy  and  conscientious 
bigot  who  championed  both — shaped  and 
moulded  her  existence,  shut  in  and  controlled 
her  life.  Most  meet  background  for  her  whose 
whole  life  was  to  be   one  long  battle,  this  city 


©♦  Zbcvcsa  319 

of  warriors  and  knights — their  very  memory 
all  shadowy." 

Her  father  was  twice  married,  and  Theresa 
was  the  eldest  daughter  by  the  second  wife, 
who  bore  him  seven  sons  and  two  daughters. 
By  his  first  wife  he  had  two  sons  and  a 
daughter.  She  says  of  this  family,  "  They 
were  all  bound  to  one  another  by  a  tender 
love,  and  all  resembled  their  parents  in  virtue 
except  myself." 

The  young  men  for  the  most  part  went  to 
the  "  Indies  "  to  carve  out  fortunes  for  them- 
selves, but  always  looked  back  wistfully  and 
with  love  to  the  old  home  and  the  dear  sisters 
and  parents  there.  There  was  much  that  was 
grand  and  full  of  promise  in  ancient  Spanish 
life — great  domestic  attachment,  simplicity,  in- 
tegrity, and  self-respect,  together  with  a  daunt- 
less spirit  and  a  love  of  adventure.  But  a 
fatal  darkness  came  over  it.  The  liberal  and 
democratic  institutions  of  the  country  were 
destroyed  by  the  King's  ambition  of  obtaining 
absolute  power  ;  and,  worst  of  all,  the  Inquisition 
was  suffered  to  scotch  and  kill  all  free  intel- 
lectual life. 


320     Ube  Dtratn  Saints  an^  /IDarti^rs 

Theresa  from  an  early  age  was  full  of  vital, 
intellectual  and  spiritual  energies,  but  none 
of  these  was  allowed  an  outlet.  With  her 
extraordinary  powers,  and  with  her  indomitable 
will,  had  her  energies  been  directed  to  expand 
in  practical  good  works,  she  might  have  trans- 
formed the  position  of  her  countrywomen. 

It  was,  perhaps,  impossible  for  Theresa  to 
revolutionise  the  position  of  women  in  Spain ; 
the  thought  of  attempting  such  a  thing  did 
not  occur  to  her.  So  she  did  the  only  thing 
that  seemed  possible — immure  them  ;  that 
they  might  not  gossip,  nor  fritter  their  lives 
in  visiting  and  entertaining. 

To  return  to  her  biography. 

Her  favourite  brother,  Rodrigo,  four  years 
older  than  herself,  was  her  companion  in  play. 
Along  with  him  she  pored  over  an  old  book 
of  the  Lives  of  the  Saints  and  Martyrs.  **  When 
I  saw  the  martyrdom  which  they  had  suffered 
for  God,"  she  wrote  in  after  years,  "  it  seemed 
to  me  that  they  had  bought  the  enjoyment 
of  God  very  cheaply,  and  I  longed  to  die 
like  them.  Together  with  my  brother  I  dis- 
coursed how  it  would  be  possible  to  accomplish 


S*  Xlbetesa  321 

this.  We  agreed  to  go  to  the  land  of  the 
Moors,  begging  our  way  for  the  love  of  God, 
there  to  be  beheaded  ;  and  it  seems  to  me 
that  the  Lord  gave  us  courage  even  at  so 
tender  an  age,  if  we  could  have  discovered 
a  means  of  accomplishing  what  we  desired. 
But  our  parents  seemed  to  us  the  great 
obstacle."  It  is  said  that  the  two  children 
actually  started,  carrying  with  them  provisions 
for  the  journey.  She  was  then  only  six  or 
seven.  They  got  out  of  the  town  and  on  to 
the  bridge,  where  their  uncle,  who  was  jogging 
into  Avila  on  horseback,  saw  them,  stopped 
and  asked  what  they  were  about,  and  whither 
going.     He  at  once  took  them  home  again. 

After  her  mother's  death  her  father  took 
her  to  the  convent  of  the  Encarnacion.  Her 
elder  sister  had  been  married  in  1531,  and  there 
was  no  one  to  look  after  her  at  home.  In 
the  peaceful  retreat  of  the  convent  she  remained 
for  a  year  and  a  half,  till,  falling  ill,  she  was 
sent  home.  A  visit  she  paid  during  her  con- 
valescence to  her  sister  Maria,  the  wife  of  a 
Castilian  gentleman  who  had  a  country  house 
two  days'  journey  from  Avila,  determined  her 

21 


32  2     XTbe  IDfrgin  Saints  anb  /llbatti^rs 

vocation.      Half-way   lived    her    uncle,    Pedro 
de  Cepeda,   in  an  old  manor-house.     He  was 
a  grave,   formal  gentleman,  without  wife    and 
children,  who  attended  to  his  estate,  and  read 
only  religious   books.     The  young  girl  stayed 
the  night  in  his  house,  and  the  old  man  asked 
her  to  read  aloud  to  him  one  of  his  favourite 
books  of  devotion.     Out  of  courtesy  she  con- 
cealed   her  distaste,   and    read    to  him    in    the 
evening.     She  remained   there    more  than    one 
night,  probably  because  not  strong  enough  to 
proceed  upon  her  journey,  and  every  evening 
continued  the  reading.     She  says  :   '*  Although 
the    days  I   stayed  with    him    were    few,  such 
was  the  effect  the  words   of  God   I   read  and 
heard  had   on   my   heart,  and  the  good    com- 
panionship,   that    I    began    to    understand    the 
truth — that    all    was    nothing,    and    that    the 
world  was  vanity,   and    that  everything  ended 
speedily."     She    prosecuted    her  journey    after 
this  rest,   but   her   mind  was  working  out  the 
solution    of  her   own    destiny.       She    saw    life 
under  a  new  aspect. 

She   made    up  her  mind   to  become   a  nun, 
though  without  any  very  sincere  vocation.    Her 


father  gave  his  consent,   and   she   entered    the 
convent  of  the  Encarnacion  as  a  novice. 

The  sisterhood  was  easy-going  and  numerous. 
So  many  men  at  this  period  went  to  the  New 
World,  that  women  abounded,  and  having 
nowhere  else  to  go,  settled  into  convents  for 
their  convenience,  and  not  for  the  sake  of 
devotion.  "The  discipline,"  says  Miss  Graham, 
*'  was  not  severe  ;  in  its  atmosphere  of  relaxa- 
tion and  secularism,  worldly  rank  was  as  potent 
as  in  this  century  :  no  strict,  demure  sisterhood 
that  of  the  Encarnacion,  where  nearly  a  hundred 
merry,  noisy,  squabbling,  sometimes  hungry 
and  chattering,  women  made  the  best  of  a  life 
forced  on  them." 

It  was  a  convenient,  harmless  sort  of  pension 
for  middle-aged  ladies  who  were  single  ;  but, 
of  course,  not  quite  suited  to  young  girls 
without  a  vocation.  The  sisters  went  about, 
paid  visits,  received  friends,  just  as  in  an 
hotel.  All  would  have  been  well  enough  had 
they  been  given  definite  work — the  education 
of  poor  girls,  Sunday-schools,  nursing  the  sick, 
the  care  of  orphans — but  they  had  nothing 
to  occupy  their  time  or  their  minds  except  the 


324     Hbe  IDirain  Saints  anb  /IDatti^rs 

choir  offices  in  Latin,  which  they  did  not 
understand. 

For  a  while  Theresa  fell  in  with  this  sort  of 
life,  frivolity  and  religion  mixed  in  equal  pro- 
portions— frivolity  bred  of  idleness.  But  it  did 
not  satisfy  her  ;  it  was  not  what  she  wanted. 
She  was  full  of  impulse  and  had  a  soul  desirous 
of  better  things.  Not  for  a  moment  did  the 
thought  dawn  on  her  that  these  good  women 
might  be  made  useful  in  their  generation.  A 
woman  is  hardly  ever  an  innovator,  and  the 
notion  of  innovation  never  entered  the  mind 
of  Theresa.  The  only  course  that  she  could 
take  was  to  make  the  enclosure  of  the  nuns 
strict,  and  to  impose  silence  on  their  flow  of 
silly  talk.  Consequently  she  brooded  on  the 
idea  of  a  reform,  and  a  reform  in  this  direction. 

Theresa  returned  to  the  Encarnacion  after 
a  serious  catalyptic  attack,  on  Palm  Sunday, 
1537.  She  was  then  about  twenty-two;  and 
twenty-five  years  of  her  life  were  spent  within 
its  walls  in  spiritual  and  physical  troubles,  all 
produced  by  the  same  cause — having  nothing 
worthy  of  her  powers  to  occupy  her. 

Through  all  these  years  this  grand  woman, 


S,  Ubevesa  325 

full  of  practical  commonsense,  with  fervent 
devotion  to  God  in  her  heart,  fired  with  desire 
to  do  something  for  Him,  with  a  really 
wonderful  tact  and  charm  of  manner  that  was 
irresistible,  had  been  chafing  at  her  impotence. 

Talking  with  a  friend  one  day,  she  heard 
that  certain  nuns  of  the  Carmelite  Order,  to 
which  the  Encarnacion  belonged,  had  gone  back 
to  observance  of  the  primitive  rule.  What 
that  primitive  rule  was  she  did  not  know  ;  but 
the  friend,  a  widow  lady,  said  :  "  How  should 
you  like  to  join  me,  and  become  barefooted 
nuns,  and  help  me  to  found  a  convent  of  this 
sort  ? "  The  idea  fired  the  brain  of  Theresa, 
and  she  went  to  the  Superior  to  ask  permission 
to  start  a  convent  of  the  strict  rule.  The 
Superior  and  Provincial  gave  their  consent  after 
great  hesitation,  and  arranged  that  the  new 
house  should  contain  thirteen  nuns,  and  enjoy 
a  fixed  revenue.  But  here  S.  Theresa  inter- 
posed ;  she  positively  refused  to  have  a  revenue. 
The  house  must  be  founded  in  absolute 
poverty. 

*^As    soon    as    our    intention    began    to    get 
wind    in    the    town,   there  arose  such  a  storm 


326     ubc  \DivQin  Saints  ant)  /iDatt^rs 

of  persecution  as  is  quite  indescribable.  The 
scoffs,  the  jeers,  the  laughter,  the  outcries  that 
this  was  a  ridiculous,  fantastic  undertaking, 
were  more  than  I  can  speak  of." 

The  Provincial,  thinking  it  would  not  do  to 
run  counter  to  popular  opinion,  changed  his 
mind,  and  refused  to  permit  the  foundation. 

"  In  the  meantime  I  was  in  very  bad  odour  in 
the  house  where  I  was,  because  I  wished  to  draw 
the  enclosure  more  tight.  The  sisters  said  that 
I  insulted  them,  and  that  God  was  served  well 
in  their  convent,  and  that  it  would  be  far  better 
for  me  to  devote  my  energies  to  procuring 
money  for  that  house  already  existing  than  to 
found  a  new  one.  Some  even  wanted  to  put 
me  in  prison,  and  there  were  but  few  who  took 
my  part." 

After  about  six  months  she  persuaded  her 
sister  with  great  secrecy  to  buy  her  a  house  in 
Avila.  Then,  delighted  to  have  a  mystery  to 
play  with,  she  set  to  work  to  prepare  for  turn- 
ing this  house  into  a  convent  of  barefooted 
Carmelites.  Happily  for  her  she  obtained  the 
favour  of  the  bishop,  and  also  a  papal  brief; 
and  then    very  secretly,   on   S.    Bartholomew's 


S»  XTberesa  327 

Day,  1562,  she  and  a  few  intimates  moved  into 
this  house.  All  went  on  smoothly  till  after 
dinner.  Theresa  had  lain  down  for  her  siesta^ 
when  the  house  was  disturbed  by  the  arrival  of  a 
messenger  from  the  convent  of  the  Encarnacion 
with  peremptory  orders  for  her  return  as  well 
as  that  of  two  of  the  nuns  she  had  persuaded 
to  follow  her.  The  convent  was  in  wild  excite- 
ment. She  was  obliged  to  return,  but  she  was 
able  to  hold  her  own  ;  she  had  the  papal  brief 
to  display. 

What  follows  is  comical.  The  town  council 
and  the  cathedral  chapter  were  convulsed  at  the 
news.  The  mayor  sent  messages  about  to 
convoke  a  grand  assembly  of  the  city  council 
to  decide  what  was  to  be  done,  and  orders 
to  Theresa  to  leave  the  house.  But  she  was 
resolute.  Then,  when  the  town  council  was 
baffled,  the  mayor  endeavoured  to  effect  a 
compromise,  being  much  put  out  at  a  woman 
having  defied  all  the  city  magnates.  But  she 
flourished  in  his  face  the  brief  and  an  autho- 
risation from  the  bishop,  and  he  returned 
defeated.  The  city  magnates  in  high  dudgeon 
appealed    to    the    sovereign,    Philip    11. ,    and 


328     Ubc  WvQin  Saints  anb  /IRart^ts 

Theresa  was  obliged  also  to  send  a  delegate 
to  court  to  plead  her  case.  The  opposition 
dragged  on  for  a  year,  but  in  the  end  Theresa 
carried  her  point.  It  was  not  worth  the  storm 
in  a  teacup  raised. 

This  was  the  beginning.  Even  in  Spain  it 
was  felt  that  a  change  in  monastic  life  was 
necessary. 

But  reform  assumed  the  direction  of  recur- 
rence to  severe  asceticism,  a  phase  as  out  of  date 
as  could  well  be  conceived,  and  which  accord- 
ingly flickered  for  a  while,  and  then  expired. 

Theresa  was  delighted  to  enlist  some  earnest 
friars  in  the  cause,  and  they  reformed  the 
Carmelite  monasteries  on  the  same  lines  as  those 
she  had  pursued  with  the  convents. 

In  her  own  account  of  how  she  founded  her 
various  establishments,   she  says  : — 

*^I  Hved  RvQ  years  in  the  convent  of  S. 
Joseph  at  Avila,  after  I  had  founded  it ;  and  I 
think  that  they  were  the  most  quiet  years  of  my 
life.  I  there  enjoyed  the  tranquiUity  and  calm- 
ness which  my  soul  has  often  since  longed  for. 
.  .  .  The  number  in  the  house  was  thirteen,  a 
number  which    I   was  resolved   not  to  exceed. 


S*  XTberesa  329 

I  was  much  delighted  at  living  among  such 
pure  and  holy  souls,  for  all  their  care  was 
to  serve  and  praise  our  Lord.  His  Divine 
Majesty  sent  us  everything  necessary  without 
our  asking  ;  and  whenever  we  were  in  want — 
and  that  was  seldom — their  joy  was  all  the 
greater.  I  praised  the  Lord  for  giving  them 
such  heroic  virtue,  and  especially  for  endowing 
them  with  indifference  to  what  concerned  their 
bodies.  I,  who  was  their  Superior,  never 
remember  to  have  been  troubled  with  any 
thought  in  this  matter,  because  I  firmly  believed 
that  our  Lord  would  not  be  wanting  to  those 
who  had  no  other  wish  than  how  to  please  Him. 
With  regard  to  the  virtue  of  obedience,  I 
could  mention  many  things  which  I  here  saw 
in  them.  One  at  present  recurs  to  me.  One 
day  a  few  cucumbers  were  given  to  us,  and 
we  were  eating  them  at  our  meal.  The 
cucumber  that  fell  to  my  share  was  rotten 
inside.  I  called  one  of  the  sisters,  and  to 
prove  her  obedience,  bade  her  plant  it  in  the 
garden.  She  asked  if  she  should  plant  it 
upright  or  sideways ;  I  said  '  sideways,'  and 
she  immediately  did    so,  without    the    thought 


33°     trbe  WivQin  Saints  anb  /Iftartyrs 

occurring  to  her  that  it  must  decay.  Her 
esteem  for  obedience  was  so  superior  to  her 
natural  reason,  that  she  acted  as  if  believing 
that  what  I   ordered  was  proper." 

In  course  of  time,  the  eager,  active  mind 
of  Theresa  formed  a  new  scheme.  She  had 
now  a  convent  of  discalced  nuns ;  she  was 
resolved  to  have  also  a  monastery  of  discalced 
friars.  The  General  of  her  Order  came  to 
Avila  from  Rome ;  she  explained  to  him 
the  reform  she  had  effected,  and  her  desire 
to  extend  the  reform  to  monasteries  of  men. 
He  acquiesced,  and  gave  her  permission  to 
form  such  a  society  if  she  could.  "  I  was 
now,"  says  she,  "  much  consoled  at  having 
his  licence,  but  much  troubled  at  having  no 
friars  ready  to  begin  the  work,  nor  any  secular 
ready  to  start  the  house.  Here  was  I,  a  poor 
barefooted  nun,  without  the  support  of  any 
one  but  our  Lord,  furnished  with  plenty  of 
letters  and  good  wishes,  but  without  the  possi- 
bility of  putting  my  wishes  into  execution." 

However,  she  wrote  to  the  General  of  the 
Jesuits  at  Medina,  and  he  and  the  rest  of 
the  fathers  of  that  Society  took  the  matter  up 


S.  Zhctcsa  331 

very  warmly,  and  did  not  desist  till  they  had 
obtained  from  the  bishop  and  magistrates  licence 
for  the  foundation  of  such  a  monastery  as 
S.  Theresa  desired. 

*^  Now,  though  I  had  a  licence,  I  had  no 
house,  nor  a  farthing  wherewith  to  buy  one  ; 
and  how  could  a  poor  stranger  like  me  procure 
credit,  had  not  the  Lord  assisted  us?  He 
so  ordered  that  a  virtuous  lady,  for  whom 
there  had  been  no  room  for  admission  into 
S.  Joseph's  convent,  hearing  that  another  house 
was  about  to  be  started,  asked  to  be  admitted 
into  it.  She  had  some  money,  but  not  enough 
to  buy  the  house  with — only  sufficient  for 
the  hire  of  one,  and  to  pay  our  travelling 
expenses.  And  so  we  hired  one  ;  and  without 
any  other  assistance  we  left  Avila,  two  nuns 
from  S.  Joseph's  and  myself,  with  four  from 
the  relaxed  convent  of  the  Incarnation,  and 
our  chaplain  Julian  d' Avila." 

They  reached  Medina  del  Campo  on  the 
eve  of  the  Assumption,  1567,  at  midnight, 
and  stole  on  foot  with  great  secrecy  to  the 
hired  house.  "  It  was  a  great  mercy  of  God 
that  at  such  an  hour  we  met  no  one,  though 


332     ube  IDtrgtit  Saints  an^  /IDartprs 

then  was  the  time  when  the  bulls  were  about 
to    be  shut  up  which  were  to  fight  next   day. 
I    have   no    recollection  of  anything,  I  was  in 
such  a    scare    and    anxiety.     Having    come    to 
the  house^  we  entered  a    court,    the    walls    of 
which  were  much  decayed.     The    good  father 
who   had    hired    the  house   was    short-sighted, 
and  had  not  noticed  how  unfit  the  place  was 
to  be  made  an  abode  for  the  Blessed  Sacrament. 
When    I    saw    the  hall   I  perceived  that  much 
rubbish    would    have    to  be   removed,  and  the 
walls    to    be    plastered.       The    night   was    far 
advanced,    and    we    had    brought    only    a    few 
hangings  there,  I  think,  which  was  nothing  for 
the    whole    length    of  the    hall.       I   knew  not 
what  was   to  be  done,  for  I  saw  that  this  was 
not    a  fit  place   for   an  altar  to   be  erected  in 
it.     However,  our   Lord  was  willing  that  this 
should  be  done  immediately,  for    the  steward 
of  the  lady  had  in  the  house  several  pieces  of 
tapestry  and  a  piece  of  blue  damask,  and  we 
were  allowed  the  use  of  them.     When    I  saw 
such  good  furniture,  I  praised  our  Lord.     But 
we    knew  not  what   to  do  for  nails,   and  that 
was  not  the  time  when  they   could  be  bought. 


S»  XTberesa  333 

We  began  to  search  for  some  on  the  walls, 
and  at  length  procured  enough.  Then  some 
of  the  men  put  up  the  tapestry  whilst  we 
swept  the  floor ;  and  we  made  such  haste, 
that  when  it  was  daylight  the  altar  was  ready, 
a  bell  was  put  up,  and  immediately  mass  was 
said.  This  was  sufficient  for  taking  possession, 
but  we  did  not  rest  till  the  Blessed  Sacrament 
was  placed  in  the  tabernacle,  and  through  the 
chinks  of  the  door  opposite  the  altar  we  heard 
mass,  having  no  other  place." 

When  daylight  came  S.  Theresa  was  aghast 
to  see  how  ruinous  the  house  was  :  the  hall, 
which  she  had  hastily  converted  into  a  chapel, 
was  so  full  of  cracks  that  the  Blessed  Sacrament 
was  exposed  to  the  sight  of  those  who  passed 
in  the  streets,  and  she  saw  that  the  repairs 
of  the  dilapidated  mansion  would  cost  money 
and  take  time.  She  was  much  dispirited,  for 
she  began  to  fear  that  she  had  undertaken 
what  she  had  not  the  power  to  carry  out — 
her  intention  being  to  make  this  a  convent 
of  nuns,  and  then  to  found,  if  possible,  in 
the  same  town,  a  monastery  for  reformed  Car- 
melite friars. 


334     Ube  IDtrgtn  Saints  anb  /IDart^ts 

"-  In  this  trouble  I  passed  a  great  part  of 
the  evening,  till  the  Rector  of  the  Society  (of 
Jesus)  sent  a  father  to  visit  me,  and  he  con- 
soled me  greatly.  I  did  not  tell  him  all  my 
troubles,  but  only  that  which  I  felt  at  seeing 
ourselves  in  the  street.  I  spoke  to  him  of 
the  necessity  of  having  another  house  for  us, 
cost  what  it  might,  wherein  we  might  dwell 
till  this  one  was  repaired.  I  recovered  courage 
also  at  seeing  so  many  people  come  to  us  and 
none  of  them  accuse  me  of  folly,  which  was 
a  mercy  of  God,  for  they  would  have  done 
quite  right  to  take  away  from  us  the  Blessed 
Sacrament.  In  spite  of  all  the  efforts  made 
to  obtain  another  house,  none  could  be  found 
to  be  let  in  the  old  town,  and  this  gave  me 
great  anxiety  night  and  day ;  for  though  I 
had  appointed  men  to  watch  and  guard  the 
Blessed  Sacrament,  yet  I  was  fearful  lest  they 
should  fall  asleep,  and  so  I  got  up  in  the 
night  myself  to  guard  it  at  a  window,  and 
by  the  clear  light  of  the  moon  I  could  see  it 
very  plainly. 

"About  eight  days  after,  a  merchant,  seeing 
our  ^necessity,  and  living  himself  in  a  very  good 


S,  lEberesa  335 

house,  told  us  we  might  have  the  upper  part 
of  it,  where  we  might  live  as  in  a  private 
house  of  our  own.  He  also  had  a  large  hall 
with  a  gilt  ceiling,  and  this  he  gave  us  for  a 
church." 

Others  came  forward  and  assisted,  and  the 
upper  story  of  the  merchant's  house  was  fitted 
up  for  their  reception. 

Shortly  after  she  began  to  see  her  way  to- 
wards obtaining  friars  for  her  reformed  Order. 
There  was  in  Medina  an  excellent  priest,  named 
Antonio  de  Heredia,  who  had  assisted  her 
greatly.  He  told  her  that  he  desired  to  enter 
the  Carthusian  Order.  This  did  not  please 
Theresa;  she  entreated  him  to  delay  a  year 
the  execution  of  his  design,  and  she  then  con- 
fided to  him  her  plan.  He  was  pleased  with 
it,  and  to  her  great  delight  offered  to  be  the 
first  friar  of  her  reformed  society.  Shortly 
after,  she  met  S.  John  of  the  Cross,  who  was 
also  at  the  time  thinking  of  joining  the  Car- 
thusians. She  intercepted  him,  and  persuaded 
him  to  become  a  discalced  Carmelite.  "  He 
promised  me  he  would  do  so  if  the  business 
did   not   prove    too    tedious.       When    I    now 


336     XLbc  WVQin  Saints  an^  /llbatt^ts 

saw  I  had  two  religous  to  commence  the  work 
with,  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  matter  was 
accomplished,  although  I  was  not  entirely 
satisfied  with  the  Prior  ;  and  thus  some  delay 
was  caused,  as  well  as  by  our  not  having  any 
place  for  commencing  our  monastery." 

In  1568,  the  Lady  de  la  Cerda,  sister  of  the 
Duke  of  Medina  Sidonia,  wrote  to  S.  Theresa, 
offering  to  found  a  house  of  discalced  Carmelite 
nuns  in  her  own  town,  Malagon.  This  lady 
knew  Theresa  well  ;  it  was  with  her  when 
left  a  widow  that  the  saint  had  spent  six 
months.  Theresa  at  once  went  to  Malagon 
with  some  of  her  nuns,  and  took  possession  of 
the  house  provided  for  them. 

Four  or  five  months  after,  whilst  S.  Theresa 
was  talking  to  a  young  gentleman  of  quality, 
he  most  unexpectedly  offered  her  a  house  he 
possessed  in  Valladolid,  with  a  vineyard  attached 
to  it.  She  at  once  accepted  the  offer.  But 
when  she  arrived  at  Valladolid,  she  found  that 
the  place  was  unhealthy,  and  altogether  un- 
suitable. Indeed,  all  the  nuns  fell  ill  in  it,  and 
they  were  obliged  to  move  to  another  house 
given  them  by  the  sister  of  the  Bishop  of  Avila. 


S.  Ubeteea  337 

Shortly  after  this,  a  young  gentleman  of 
Avila  hearing  that  S.  Theresa  wished  to  found 
a  monastery  of  discalced  friars,  offered  her  a 
house  he  possessed  in  the  little  village  of 
Durvello.  She  accepted  it,  and  then  started  to 
see  it,  with  a  nun  and  her  chaplain.  Father 
Julian  d' Avila. 

"  Though  we  set  off  at  daybreak,  yet  as  the 
place  was  not  much  known,  no  one  could  direct 
us ;  and  thus  we  walked  all  that  day  in  great 
trouble,  for  the  sun  was  very  hot,  and  when  we 
thought  we  were  near  the  place,  we  found  that 
we  had  still  a  long  way  to  go.  I  shall  never 
forget  the  fatigue  and  wanderings  of  that  day. 
We  arrived  at  the  place  just  before  nightfall, 
and  when  we  went  into  the  house,  we  found  it 
was  in  such  a  state  that  we  could  not  possibly 
spend  the  night  in  it,  partly  because  it  was 
filthy,  and  partly  because  there  were  many 
people  about.  It  had  a  tolerable  hall,  two 
chambers  with  a  garret,  and  a  little  kitchen : 
this  was  the  building  we  were  to  use  as  our 
friary.  I  thought  that  the  hall  might  be  turned 
into  a  chapel,  the  garret  into  a  choir  for  the 
frairs,  and  the  two  chambers  into  a  dormitory. 

22 


338     ^be  IDttgin  Saints  anb  /IDarti^rs 

My  companion  could  not  endure  the  thought 
of  making  a  monastery  of  the  place,  and  said, 
'  Mother,  no  soul  can  possibly  endure  such  a 
place  as  this,  however  great  the  sanctity.  Speak 
no  more  about  it.'  Father  Julian  did  not 
oppose  me  when  I  expressed  my  intentions, 
though  he  was  of  the  same  opinion  as  my  com- 
panion. We  spent  the  night  in  the  church, 
though,  so  great  was  our  fatigue,  we  stood  more 
in  need  of  sleep  than  of  vigil.  Having  arrived 
at  Medina,  I  spoke  with  Father  Antonio,  and 
told  him  everything.  He  answered :  *  I  am 
ready  to  live  not  only  in  such  a  house  as  that 
which  you  describe,  but  even  in  a  pigsty.' 
Father  John  of  the  Cross  was  of  the  same 
mind." 

The  consent  of  the  bishop  and  of  the  pro- 
vincial of  the  Order  having  been  obtained,  the 
two  fathers  went  off  to  the  wretched  house,  and 
took  possession  of  it  on  the  first  or  second 
Sunday  in  Advent,  in   1568. 

*'  The  following  Lent,  as  I  was  going  to 
Toledo,  I  passed  that  way,  and  came  on  Father 
Antonio  sweeping  the  door  of  the  church,  with 
his  usual  cheerful  countenance.     '  What  is  this, 


©♦  Ubctcsa  339 

father  ?  '  said  I  ;  *  what  has  become  of  your 
dignity  ? '  *  The  time  in  which  I  received 
honour  was  time  ill  spent/  he  answered. 

"  When  I  went  into  the  church  along  with 
two  merchants,  friends  of  mine,  who  had  come 
with  me  from  Medina,  I  was  astonished  to  see 
how  the  spirit  of  the  Lord  reigned  there.  So 
many  crosses  and  skulls  were  there  that  the 
merchants  could  do  nothing  but  weep.  Never 
shall  I  forget  one  little  cross  placed  over  the 
holy  water  stoup,  on  which  was  fixed  a  paper 
crucifix,  and  which  produced  more  devotion 
than  one  elaborately  carved.  The  garret  formed 
the  choir.  It  was  high  in  the  middle,  so  that 
they  could  stand  up  there  to  say  the  Hours  ; 
but  to  enter  it  they  were  obliged  to  stoop  low. 
They  had  made  two  little  hermitages  on  each 
side  of  the  church,  so  low  that  they  could  only 
sit  or  lie  down  in  them,  filled  inside  with  hay 
because  it  was  cold.  Their  heads  almost 
touched  the  roof.  Two  little  windows  com- 
manded the  altar,  and  two  stones  served  them 
as  pillows.  Here  was  also  a  store  of  crosses 
and  skulls. 

"They    went    about    preaching    among    the 


340     Ube  X>ivQin  Saints  anb  /IDatti^ts 

ignorant  people  of  the  neighbourhood,  and  soon 
gained  such  a  reputation  that  I  was  greatly- 
consoled.  They  went  to  preach  six  or  eight 
miles  off,  through  snow  and  frost,  barefoot,  for 
they  wore  no  sandals  then ;  afterwards  they 
were  ordered  to  wear  them.  When  they  had 
done  preaching  and  confessing  they  returned 
late  to  their  meal,  but  with  such  joy  that  all 
their  sufferings  were  not  accounted  by  them. 
As  for  food,  they  had  sufficient,  for  the  people 
of  the  neighbouring  villages  provided  them  with 
more  than  they  wanted." 

We  need  not  follow  the  Saint  through  the 
course  of  many  years,  travelling  from  place 
to  place,  never  quiet  anywhere,  always  on  the 
move,  with  a  scheme  in  her  head,  which  she 
obstinately  determined  on  carrying  out  in'  spite 
of  obstacle  and  opposition. 

When  the  boys  were  throwing  stones  at  the 
frogs  in  a  pond,  according  to  the  fable,  one  old 
toad  raised  its  head  above  the  water  and  said  to 
the  urchins,  "  What  is  fun  to  you  is  death  to 
us."  The  unfortunate  women  whom  S.  Theresa 
immured,  the  unhappy  men  whom  she  per- 
suaded   to  reduce    themselves    to   poverty  and 


S*  tlbetesa  341 

imbecility,  might  have  addressed  her  in  the 
same  words.  She,  herself,  was  always  engaged 
on  carrying  her  projects  into  effect ; — absolutely 
useless  though  they  were,  nay,  worse  than 
useless,  for  they  were  positively  mischievous. 
But  those  confined  in  her  convents  were  afforded 
no  work  to  do,  no  reading  to  occupy  their 
minds  ;  they  were  reduced  to  a  condition  of 
stupidity.  The  brain  is  given  to  man  and 
woman  to  be  exercised,  the  will  to  be  directed  ; 
neither  to  be  effaced. 

What  was  the  reform  to  which  Theresa 
devoted  all  her  energies  ?  To  induce  certain 
men  and  women  to  kick  off  their  shoes.  She 
aimed  at  restoring  the  Carmelite  Order  to  the 
old  severity  of  its  rule  at  a  time  when  every- 
where practical,  energetic,  active  men  and 
women  were  needed  to  do  good  work  for  God 
and  their  fellow-men,  instead  of  moping  in  cells, 
looking  at  blank  walls,  and  shivering  with  cold 
in  compulsory  idleness.  She  deliberately  en- 
gaged many  hundreds  of  the  Lord's  servants  in 
the  work  of  burying  their  talents. 

We  cannot  but  admire  her  enthusiasm  and 
her  singleness  of  purpose,  whilst  we  regret  that 


342     Ube  XOixQin  Saints  anb  /iDatt^rs 

neither  were  aright  directed.  The  bishops  and 
magistrates  had  sense  to  see  that  her  under- 
takings were  foolish  and  unprofitable,  but  she 
was  able  to  override  their  opposition,  by  her 
strength  of  purpose  and  appeal  to  higher 
authorities  who  thought  fit  to  humour  her. 
She  was  engaged  on  making  one  of  her  many- 
foundations  at  Burgos  in  1582  ;  but  was 
vigorously  opposed  by  the  archbishop,  who 
refused  to  give  his  licence. 

Sick  and  disgusted,  she  left  Burgos  at  the 
end  of  July  1582,  with  Anne  of  S.  Bartholomew 
and  Theresa  of  Jesus,  her  niece,  and  went  to 
Palencia,  Medina  del  Campo,  and  Alba,  which 
latter  place  she  visited  at  the  request  of  Maria 
Henriquez,  Duchess  of  Alba,  who  was  anxious 
to  meet  with  her.  There  she  died.  The 
account  of  her  death  we  have  from  the  pen 
of  her  companion  at  the  time,  the  Venerable 
Anne  of  S.  Bartholomew. 

"  Having  arrived  on  our  way  at  a  little 
village,  she  found  herself,  at  night,  much 
exhausted,  and  she  said  to  me,  '  My  daughter, 
I  feel  very  weak  ;  you  would  do  me  a  pleasure 
if  you  could   procure   me    something    to  eat.' 


S»  XTberesa  343 

I  had  only  some  dry  figs  with  me  ;  I  gave 
four  reals  to  a  person  wherewith  to  buy  eggs 
at  any  price,  but  none  were  to  be  procured. 
Seeing  her  half  dead,  and  being  in  this  distress, 
I  could  not  contain  my  tears.  She  said  to 
me,  with  angelic  patience,  '  Do  not  afflict 
yourself,  my  daughter  ;  God  wills  it,  and  I 
am  content.  The  fig  you  have  given  me 
suffices.'  On  the  morrow  we  arrived  at  Alba  ; 
our  holy  mother  was  so  ill  that  the  doctors 
despaired  of  her  recovery.  I  was  dreadfully 
troubled  to  lose  her,  and  especially  at  her  dying 
at  Alba.  I  was  also  grieved  to  think  that 
I  must  survive  her,  for  I  was  very  fond  of 
her,    and    she    was    very    tender    towards  me  ; 

her  presence  was  my  great  consolation 

I  was  with  her  for  five  days  at  Alba,  in  the 
greatest  affliction.  Two  days  before  her  death, 
when  I  was  alone  with  her  in  her  cell,  she 
said  to  me,  *  At  last,  my  daughter,  the  time 
of  my  death  is  come.*  These  words  touched 
me  to  the  quick  ;  I  did  not  leave  her  for  a 
moment,  but  had  everything  that  was  needed 
brought  to  me. 

"  Father  Antony  of  Jesus,  one  of  the  first 


344     XTbe  IDtrgtn  Saints  anb  /IDatti^ts 

Discalced  Carmelites,  seeing  how  tired  I  was, 
said  to  me  on  the  morning  of  her  death,  *  Go 
and  take  a  little  something  or  other.'  But 
when  I  left  the  room  she  seemed  uneasy,  and 
looked  from  side  to  side.  The  father  asked 
her  if  she  wished  me  to  be  recalled.  She  could 
not  speak,  but  she  made  a  sign  of  assent.  I 
therefore  returned,  and  on  my  re-entering  the 
room,  she  smiled,  and  caressed  me,  drawing 
me  towards  her,  and  placed  herself  in  my  arms. 
I  held  her  thus  for  fourteen  hours,  all  which 
time  she  was  in  the  most  exalted  meditation, 
and  so  full  of  love  for  her  Saviour,  that 
she  seemed  as  though  she  could  not  die  soon 
enough,  so  greatly  did  she  sigh  for  His 
presence.  As  for  me,  I  felt  the  most  lively 
pain  till  I  saw  the  good  Lord  at  the  foot  of 
the  bed  of  the  saint,  in  inexpressible  majesty 
accompanied  by  some  saints,  ready  to  conduct 
her  happy  soul  to  heaven.  This  glorious 
vision  lasted  the  space  of  a  credo,  and  entirely 
resigned  me  to  the  will  of  the  Lord.  I  said, 
from  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  '  O  my  God, 
even  though  I  should  wish  to  retain  her  on 
earth,  I   would  resign   her  at   once   to  Thee  !  ' 


S*  XCberesa  345 

I   had   scarcely    said    these    words    when  she 
expired." 

Ribera  gives  the  following  account  of  her 
death  : — *'  At  nine  o'clock  on  the  same  evening 
she  received,  with  great  reverence  and  devo- 
tion, the  sacrament  of  Extreme  Unction, 
joining  with  the  nuns  in  the  penitential  psalms 
and  litany.  Father  Antony  asked  her,  a  little 
after,  if  she  wished  her  body,  after  her  death, 
to  be  taken  to  Avila,  or  to  remain  at  Alba. 
She  seemed  displeased  at  the  question,  and 
only  answered,  '  Am  I  to  have  a  will  in  any- 
thing ?  Will  they  deny  me  here  a  little 
earth  for  my  body  ^ '  All  that  night  she 
suffered  excessive  pain.  Next  day,  at  seven 
in  the  morning,  she  turned  herself  on  one 
side,  just  in  the  posture  in  which  the  blessed 
Magdalen  is  commonly  drawn  by  painters. 
Thus  she  remained  for  fourteen  hours,  holding 
a  crucifix  firmly  in  her  hands,  so  that  the 
nuns  could  not  remove  it  till  after  her  death. 
She  continued  in  an  ecstasy,  with  an  inflamed 
countenance,  and  great  composure,  Hke  one 
wholly  taken  up  with  internal  contemplation. 
When   she    was    now    drawing    near   her   end, 


346     Ube  WvQin  Saints  att5  /iDarti^rs 

one  of  the  nuns,  viewing  her  more  attentively, 
thought  she  observed  in  her  certain  signs  that 
the  Saviour  was  talking  to  her,  and  showing 
her  wonderful  things.  Thus  she  remained 
till  nine  in  the  evening,  when  she  surrendered 
her  pure  soul  into  the  hands  of  her  Creator. 
She  died  in  the  arms  of  Sister  Anne  of  S. 
Bartholomew,  on  October  4th,  1582  ;  but  the 
next  day,  on  account  of  the  reformation  of 
the  calendar,  was  the  fifteenth  of  that  month, 
the  day  now  appointed  for  the  festival.  The 
saint  was  sixty-seven  years  old,  forty-seven 
of  which  she  had  passed  in  religion — twenty- 
seven  in  the  monastery  of  the  Incarnation, 
and  twenty  in  that  of  S.  Joseph." 

Such  was  the  end  of  this  remarkable  woman, 
whose  life  was  so  full  of  energy  directed  to 
no  better  purpose  than  that  of  a  squirrel  in 
a  revolving  cage. 

That  was  not  her  fault  ;  it  was  due  to  the 
age  in  which  she  lived  and  to  the  paralysing 
influence  of  the  Inquisition  in  the  land,  which 
allowed  no  independence  of  thought  or  of 
action. 

We  have  seen  the  utter  helplessness  of  Spain 


S^  XTbctesa  347 

exhibited  in  the  War  with  the  United  States 
of  America.  Not  a  token  of  ability,  not  a 
sign  of  fresh  vigour  appeared — only  feebleness, 
degeneracy,  helplessness.  It  is  to  this  that 
the  Inquisition  has  reduced  Spain.  It  has 
destroyed  the  recuperative,  vital  energy  out 
of  the  character  of  the  people. 

The  Latin  races  seem  doomed  by  God  to 
go  down,  and  His  hand  is  manifestly  extended 
to  bless  and  lead  on  the  great  Anglo-Saxon 
race.  But  this  can  only  be  so  long  as  that 
race  fulfils  its  high  mission,  as  the  civilising 
force  in  the  world,  and  it  maintains  the  eternal 
principles  of  Freedom,  Justice,  and  Integrity. 


XVIII 
SISTER    BORA 


349 


SISTER  DORA. 


XVIII 
SISTER    BORA. 

IN  S.  Hildegarde  and  S.  Theresa  we  have 
had  instances  of  two  women  of  wonderful 
energy  and  talent,  yet  who  achieved  nothing 
of  moment,  because  their  powers  were  not 
directed  into  a  channel  where  they  might  have 
been  of  use.  S.  Hildegarde,  indeed,  by  her 
letters,  threatening,  warning,  reproving,  did 
a  certain  amount  of  good — not  much  ;  those 
misdoers  who  received  her  epistles  winced  and 
went  on  in  their  old  courses.  Nevertheless, 
she  was  a  testimony  to  a  worldly  age  of  the 
higher  life  set  before  it  in  the  Gospel  than 
that  world  cared  to  follow. 

S.  Theresa,  with  a  heart  on  fire  with  love 
to  God,  and  inexhaustible  energy,  spent  herself 
in  founding  little  nunneries,  in  which  the  sisters 
were,  as  a  reform,  to  wear  sandals  instead  of 
shoes,  and  in  which  their  natural  gifts  were  to 

351 


352     Ubc  \DitQin  Saints  anb  /llbatt^rs 

be  reduced  to  a  general  level  of  incapacity,  by- 
giving  them  nothing  practical  to  do,  and  by  for- 
bidding them  the  cultivation  of  their  intellects. 

Sister  Dora,  whose  life  I  purpose  sketching, 
strikes  me  as  having  been  a  double  of  S. 
Theresa,  in  the  same  persistency,  determined 
will,  fascination  of  manner,  and  cheerfulness. 
Neither  could  be  happy  until  afforded  scope  for 
the  exercise  of  her  powers — but  how  different 
were  the  ends  set  before  each  ! 

A  very  charming  biography  of  Sister  Dora 
has  been  written  by  Miss  Lonsdale,  which, 
whilst  admirably  portraying  her  character,  has 
given  some  umbrage  by  painting  the  people 
among  whom  she  laboured  in  darker  colours 
than  they  conceive  is  justified,  and  by  a  little 
heightening  of  the  dramatic  situations.  She 
fell,  moreover,  into  certain  inaccuracies  in 
matters  of  detail,  and  some  of  her  statements 
have  been  contradicted  by  persons  who  were 
qualified  to  know  particulars.  What  mistakes 
were  made  in  that  book  have  in  part  been 
corrected  in  later  editions.  But  I  cannot  find 
that  there  was  any  accusation  made  of  the 
authoress   unduly    idealising    the    character    of 


sister  Dora  353 

Sister  Dora.  On  the  contrary,  some  think  that 
Miss  Lonsdale,  in  her  desire  not  to  appear 
a  panegyrist,  has  given  Sister  Dora  a  tincture 
of  unworthy  qualities  that  were  really  absent 
from  her  character.^ 

In  compiling  this  little  notice  I  have  taken 
pains  to  obtain  information  from  those  who 
knew  Sister  Dora  intimately,  and  have  had 
Miss  Lonsdale's  book  subjected  to  revision 
by  such  as  live  in  Walsall  or  knew  Walsall 
when  she  was  there  ;  and  I  trust  that  it  is  free 
from  inaccuracies  and  exaggerations. 

In  addition  to  Miss  Lonsdale's  Memoir  two 
others  appeared,  one  in  Miss  J.  Chappell's 
Four  Noble  Women  and  their  Work^  and 
another  by  Miss  Morton,  which  has  been 
characterised  in  the  Walsall  Observer  as  a 
"  caricature."  Neither  of  these  afford  any 
additional  matter  of  value. 

In    addition    again,    but    of    very    different 

1  The  Rev,  E.  M.  Fitzgerald,  who  was  Vicar  of  Walsall 
at  the  time  when  Sister  Dora  was  there,  writes  :  "  No  Walsall 
friend  of  Sister  Dora  ever  thought  that  the  book  exaggerated 
her  virtues  or  her  achievements.  We  found  fault  because 
it  did  her  injustice  in  attributing  to  her  some  mean  faults 
of  which  she  was  incapable." 

23 


354     Zbc  WvQin  Saints  anb  /Ilbarti^rs 

value,  is  a  notice  by  Mr.  S.  Welsh,  Secretary  to 
the  Hospital  at  Walsall,  in  which  she  worked, 
and  who  was  introduced  to  her  the  day  after 
she  arrived  there,  and  was  on  terms  of  intimacy 
with  her  till  her  death.  His  notice  is  in  the 
General  Baptist  Magazine  for  1889.  This 
is  the  more  valuable  as  being  the  testimony 
of  one  belonging  to  a  different  reHgious 
communion,  and  is,  therefore,  sure  to  be 
impartial.  Another  corrective  to  mistakes  is 
contained  in  Sister  Bora :  a  Review^  published 
at  Walsall  in  1880.  I  enter  into  all  these 
particulars  at  some  length  because  Miss  Lons- 
dale's book  was  qualified  by  the  Rev.  Mark 
Pattison,  Sister  Dora's  brother,  as  **  a  romance," 
and  because  some  people  have  considered  it 
to  be  so,  misdoubting  the  main  facts  because 
of  the  inaccuracies  in  detail  fastened  on  at 
the  time.  Mr.  Mark  Pattison  was  unqualified 
spiritually  for  entering  into  and  appreciating 
his  sister's  character  ;  and  of  her  life  in  Walsall 
he  personally  knew  absolutely  nothing.  A 
cold  and  soured  man,  wrapped  up  in  himself, 
he  could  not  appreciate  the  overflowing  charity 
and  devotion  of  his  sister. 


Sister  2)ora  355 

Dorothy  Wyndlow  Pattison  was  born  on  the 
15th  January,  1832.  She  was  the  youngest 
daughter,  and  the  youngest  child  but  one, 
of  the  Rev.  Mark  Pattison,  who  was  for  many 
years  Rector  of  Hauxwell,  near  Richmond, 
in  Yorkshire.  She  inherited  from  her  father, 
who  was  of  a  Devonshire  family,  that  finely 
proportioned  and  graceful  figure  which  she 
always  maintained  ;  and  from  her  mother,  who 
was  the  daughter  of  a  banker  in  Richmond, 
those  lovely  features  which  drew  forth  the 
admiration  of  every  one  who  had  the  pleasure 
of  knowing  her. 

Her  father  was  a  good  and  sincere  man  of 
the  Low  Church  School.  He  was  thoroughly 
upright  and  strict.  It  is  not  a  little  painful 
to  see  how  Mr.  Mark  Pattison,  his  son,  late 
Rector  of  Lincoln  College,  Oxford,  in  his 
Memoirs  can  hardly  mention  his  father  without 
some  acrimonious  remark.  But  in  that  sour 
effusion  there  is  little  of  generous  recognition 
of  any  one.  Even  his  sister,  the  subject  of  this 
memoir,  comes  in  for  ill-natured  comment. 

Dora  and  her  sisters,  like  a  thousand  other 
country  parsons'  daughters,  were  of  the  utmost 


356     Ube  IDtrgtn  Saints  ariO  {fbatt^vs 

use  in  their  father's  Yorkshire  parish.  A 
French  gentleman  who  had  lived  a  while  in 
England  and  in  the  country,  said  to  me  one 
day  :  *'  Your  young  ladies  astound  me.  They 
are  angels  of  mercy.  They  wear  no  distin- 
tinguishing  habit  ;  one  does  not  see  their  wings, 
yet  they  fly  everywhere,  and  everywhere  bring 
grace  and  love  and  peace, — in  my  country  such 
a  thing  would  be  impossible." 

These  Pattison  girls  were  for  ever  saving 
their  pocket-money  to  give  it  away,  and  they 
made  it  a  rule  to  mend  and  remake  their  old 
frocks,  so  as  not  to  have  to  buy  new  ones  out 
of  their  allowance  for  clothes,  so  as  to  have 
more  to  give.  Even  their  dinners  they  would 
reserve  for  poor  people,  and  content  themselves 
with  bread  and  cheese. 

**  Giving  to  others,  instead  of  spending  on 
themselves,  seems  to  have  been  the  rule  and 
delight  of  their  lives,"  says  Miss  Lonsdale. 

A  pretty  story  is  told  of  her  at  this  time. 
A  schoolboy  in  the  village,  who  was  specially 
attached  to  her,  fell  ill  of  rheumatic  fever. 
The  boy's  one  longing  was  to  see  "  Miss  Dora  " 
again,  but  she  was   abroad   on   the    Continent. 


Sister  Bora  3S7 

As  he  grew  worse  and  worse,  he  constantly- 
prayed  that  he  might  live  long  enough  to  see 
her.  On  the  day  on  which  she  was  expected, 
he  sat  up  on  his  pillows  intently  listening,  and 
at  last,  long  before  any  one  else  could  hear  a 
sound  of  wheels,  he  exclaimed,  "  There  she 
is  !  *'  and  sank  back.  She  went  to  him  at  once, 
and  nursed  him  till  he  died. 

Her  beauty  was  very  great :  large  brilliant 
brown  eyes,  full  red  lips,  a  firm  chin,  and  a 
finely  cut  profile.  Her  hair  dark,  and  slightly 
curling,  waved  all  over  her  head ;  and  the 
remarkable  beauty  and  delicacy  of  her  colouring 
and  complexion,  added  to  the  liveliness  of  her 
expression,  made  her  a  fascinating  creature  to 
behold.  Her  father  always  called  her  "  Little 
Sunshine." 

But  the  most  remarkable  feature  about  her 
was  to  be  found  in  her  inner  being.  An  in- 
domitable will,  which  no  earthly  power  could 
subdue,  enabled  her  to  accomplish  an  almost 
superhuman  work  ;  yet  at  times  it  \^s  to  her 
a  faculty  that  brought  her  into  difficulties.  She 
was  twenty-nine  before  she  was  able  to  find 
real  scope  for  her  energies,  and  then  she  took 


358     XTbe  mvQin  Saints  anb  /iDatt^rs 

a  bold  step — answered  an  advertisement  from 
a  clergyman  at  Little  Woolston,  in  Bucking- 
hamshire, for  a  lady  to  take  the  village  school. 
Her  mother  had  died  in  1861,  and  she  con- 
sidered herself  free  from  duties  that  bound 
her  to  her  home.  Her  father  did  not  relish 
the  step  she  took,  but  acquiesced.  She  went 
to  Woolston,  and  remained  there  three  years, 
during  which  time  she  won  the  hearts,  not  of 
the  children  only,  but  of  their  parents  as  well. 
She  had  to  live  alone  in  a  cottage,  and  do 
everything  for  herself ;  but  the  people  never 
for  a  moment  doubted  she  was  a  real  lady,  and 
always  treated  her  with  great  respect.  Not 
thinking  a  little  village  school  sufficient  field 
for  her  energies,  she  resolved  to  join  a  nursing 
sisterhood  at  Redcar,  in  Yorkshire.  It  was 
a  foundation  made  by  a  clergyman  of  private 
means,  the  Rev.  J.  Postlethwaite,  and  there  were 
in  it  no  vows  made  except  one,  limited  in  period, 
of  obedience  to  the  Superior.  The  life  was  not 
quite  suited  to  her  with  her  strong  will,  but  it 
did  her  good.  She  learned  there  how  to  make 
beds  and  to  cook.  "  At  first  she  literally  sat 
down  and  cried  when  the  beds  that  she  had  just 


sister  Dora  359 

put  in  order  were  all  pulled  to  pieces  again  by- 
some  superior  authority,  who  did  not  approve 
of  the  method  in  which  they  were  made."  But 
it  was  a  useful  lesson  for  her  after-life  in  a 
hospital.  She  was  there  till  the  early  part  of 
1865,  and  then  was  sent  to  Walsall  to  help 
at  a  small  cottage  hospital,  which  had  already 
been  established  there  for  more  than  a 
year.* 

Walsall,  though  not  in  the  "  Black  Country," 
is  in  a  busy  manufacturing  district,  chiefly  of 
iron.  At  the  time  when  Sister  Dora  went  there 
it  contained  a  population  of  35,000  inhabitants. 
It  is  now  connected  with  Birmingham,  by 
almost  continuous  houses  and  pits  and  furnaces, 
with  Wednesbury  as  a  link. 

As  fresh  coal  and  iron  pits  were  being  opened 
in  the  district  round  Walsall,  accidents  became 
more  frequent,  and  it  was  found  impracticable 

*  Miss  Lonsdale  says  that  when  her  father  was  danger- 
ously ill  Sister  Dora  asked  leave  to  go  to  him,  and  was 
refused  and  sent  down  into  Devonshire.  This  has  been 
denied,  and  I  think  there  has  been  a  misapprehension  some- 
where, Mr.  Welsh  says  :  "The  story  about  Sister  Dora  not 
being  allowed  to  visit  her  father  on  his  death-bed  is  very 
sensational,  but — is  fiction." 


36o     XTbe  Dtrgln  Saints  anb  /IDart^ts 

to  send  those  injured  to  Birmingham,  which 
was  seven  miles  distant  ;  accordingly,  in  1863, 
the  Town  Council  invited  the  Redcar  Society 
to  start  a  hospital  there.  When  the  Sister  who 
had  begun  the  work  fell  ill.  Sister  Dora  was 
sent  in  her  place,  and  almost  directly  caught 
small-pox  from  the  out-patients.  She  was  very 
ill,  and  even  in  her  delirium  showed  the  bent 
of  her  mind  by  ripping  her  sheets  into  strips  to 
serve  as  bandages.  She  was  placed  in  one  small 
room,  with  a  window  looking  into  the  street, 
of  which  the  blinds  were  drawn.  The  most 
absurd  rumours  got  about  that  this  was  the 
Sisters'  oratory,  where  they  had  set  up  an  image 
of  the  Virgin  Mary  ;  and  stones  and  mud  were 
thrown  at  the  panes  of  glass,  and  the  Sisters 
were  shouted  after  in  the  streets.  The  com- 
mittee of  the  hospital  were  interrogated,  and 
denied  that  any  religious  services  were  conducted 
in  an  oratory.  Indeed,  no  formal  oratory 
would  have  been  allowed  ;  but  no  doubt  the 
commitee  were  unable  to  prevent  the  poor 
Sisters  from  saying  their  prayers  together  in  a 
room  if  they  agreed  to  do  so,  and  in  community 
life  common  prayer  is  a  requisite. 


Sister  Dota  361 

A  boy  who  had  received  an  injury  was  taken 
to  the  hospital.  One  night,  when  he  was  re- 
covering, Sister  Dora  found  him  crying.  She 
asked  him  what  was  the  matter.  At  last  it 
came  out  :  "  Sister,  I  shouted  after  you  in  the 
street,  *  Sister  of  Misery  !  '  " 

"  I  knew  you  when  you  came  in,"  she  said  ; 
"  I  remembered  your  face." 

This  is  the  true  version  of  a  story  Miss 
Lonsdale  gives. 

Mr.  Welsh  says  :  "  When  the  cottage  hospital 
— which  was  the  second  of  its  kind  in  England — 
was  opened,  the  system  of  voluntary  nursing 
was  unknown  ;  the  only  voluntary  nurses  heard 
of  then  being  those  who  had  gone  out  to  the 
Crimea  with  Miss  Florence  Nightingale  ;  conse- 
quently the  dress  of  the  Sisters  was  uncommon, 
and  the  name  of  Sister  strange.  Therefore,  a 
good  deal  of  misunderstanding  was  the  result ; 
but  in  course  of  time  people  began  to  judge 
the  institution  by  its  results.  Still,  when  Sister 
Dora  came  to  the  hospital,  there  lingered  doubts 
and  suspicions  that  the  nurses  were  Romanists 
in  disguise,  come  to  entrap  and  ruin  souls  rather 
than    cure    bodies.     But    Sister    Dora,    by   her 


362     xrbe  IDir^tn  Saints  anb  /TOatt^rs 

frank,  open  manner,  disarmed  suspicion,  while 
the  sublime  eloquence  of  noble  deeds  silenced 
slanderous  tongues,  put  all  opposition  to  shame, 
and  won  for  the  hospital  the  confidence  of 
the  public,  and  for  herself  the  admiration  and 
affection  of  the  people/' 

In  i86i6  she  had  a  serious  illness,  brought 
on  by  exposure  to  wet  and  cold.  She  would 
come  home  from  dressing  wounds  in  the 
cottages,  wet  through  and  hot  with  hurrying 
along  the  streets,  to  find  a  crowd  of  out- 
patients awaiting  her  return  at  the  hospital, 
and  she  would  attend  to  them  in  total  dis- 
regard of  herself,  and  allow  her  wet  clothes 
to  dry  on  her. 

This  neglect  occurred  once  too  often;  a 
chill  settled  on  her,  and  for  three  weeks  she 
was  dangerously  ill.  Then  it  was  that  the 
people  of  Walsall  began  to  realise  what  she 
was,  and  the  door  of  the  hospital  was  besieged 
by  poor  people  come  to  inquire  how  their 
"  Sister  Dora  "  was. 

At  some  time  previous  to  her  going  to 
Walsall,  her  faith  had  been  somewhat  disturbed 
by    one   who    ought  not   to  have  endeavoured 


sister  2)ora  363 

to  subvert  her  trust  in  Christianity.  This 
gave  her  inexpressible  uneasiness  and  unhappi- 
ness.  There  seems  to  have  been  always  in 
her  a  keen  sense  of  God's  presence,  and  con- 
fidence in  the  efficacy  of  prayer.  She  now 
went  through  this  terrible  inner  trial.  An 
unbelieving  artisan  who  was  once  nursed  by 
her,  and  had  observed  her  critically  and  sus- 
piciously, said,  when  he  left,  "  She  is  a  noble 
woman  ;  but  she  would  have  been  that  without 
her  Christianity."  There  he  was  mistaken. 
It  was  precisely  her  fast  hold,  which  she  re- 
gained, of  Christianity  that  made  her  what 
she  was. 

Happily  she  had  one  now  of  great  assistance 
to  her  as  a  guide — a  very  remarkable  man, 
the  Rev.  Richard  Twigg,  of  St.  James's, 
Wednesbury.  Every  Sunday  morning,  when 
able,  she  walked  over  to  St.  James's  to  Early 
Communion.  She  found  in  Mr.  Twigg  a 
man  of  deep  spiritual  insight,  and  with  a 
heart  overflowing  with  the  love  of  God,  and 
consumed  with  a  desire  to  win  souls  to  Christ. 
He  was  a  man  with  the  spirit,  and  some  of 
the  power,  of  an  Apostle — a  man  who  left  his 


364     XTbe  IDtrgin  Saints  anb  /iDarti^ts 

stamp  on  Wednesbury,  that  will  not  soon  be 
obliterated. 

The  struggle  through  which  she  had  passed, 
the  sense  of  need  in  her  own  soul  for  all  that 
the  Christian  Church  supplies  in  teaching  and 
in  Sacraments  had  a  great  strengthening 
and  confirming  effect  that  never  left  her  ;  and 
the  love  of  Jesus  Christ  became  an  absorbing 
personal  devotion  that  nothing  could  shake. 
It  was  this — the  love  of  God — that  made  her 
what  she  was,  and  endure  what  she  did. 

Some  time  after  this  she  became  deeply 
attached  to  a  gentleman  who  was  connected 
with  the  hospital,  and  he  was  devotedly  fond 
of  her,  and  proposed  to  her.  But  he  was 
an  unbeliever.  Again  she  had  to  pass  through 
an  agonising  struggle.  She  felt,  as  Mr.  Twigg 
pointed  out,  that  to  unite  her  destinies  with 
him  was  to  jeopardise  her  recovered  faith, 
and  she  was  convinced  that  to  be  true  to  her 
profession,  above  all  true  to  her  Master,  she 
must  refuse  the  offer.  She  did  so,  and  pro- 
bably felt  in  the  end  that  peace  of  mind 
which  must  ensue  whenever  a  great  sacrifice 
has  been  made  for  duty. 


sister  Bora  365 

Miss  Lonsdale  represented  Sister  Dora  as 
somewhat  domineering  over  the  managing 
committee  of  the  hospital.  But  this  is  incorrect. 
A  Nonconformist  minister  says  :  "  The  noble 
object  (i.e.  the  hospital)  had  moved  men 
of  every  shade  of  politics,  and  every  form  of 
religious  belief,  to  the  work,  and  there  have 
been  passages  in  its  history  not  pleasant  to 
remember,  but  not  one  of  these  in  the  remotest 
degree  involved  Sister  Dora.  On  the  contrary, 
her  presence  and  counsel  always  brought  light 
and  peace,  and  lifted  every  question  into  a 
higher  sphere.  *  Ask  Sister  Dora,'  it  used  to 
be  said.  '  Had  we  not  better  send  for  Sister 
Dora .? '  some  member  would  exclaim  out  of 
the  fog  of  contention.  Thereupon  she  would 
appear  ;  and  many  well  remember  how  calmly 
self-possessed,  and  clear-sighted,  she  would 
stand — never  sit  down.  Indeed,  there  were 
those  who  worked  with  her  fifteen  years  who 
never  saw  her  seated  ;  she  would  stand,  usually 
with  her  hand  on  the  back  of  the  chair  which 
had  been  placed  for  her,  every  eye  directed 
to  her  ;  nor  was  it  ever  many  moments  before 
she  had  grasped  the  whole  question,  and  given 


366     Ube  X>iVQin  Saints  an^  /IDartyrs 

her  opinion  just  as  clearly  and  simply  and 
straight  to  the  purpose  as  any  opinion  given 
to  the  sufferers  in  the  wards.  Nor  was  she 
ever  wrong  ;  nor  did  she  ever  fail  of  her 
purpose  with  the  committee.  No  committee- 
men ever  questioned  or  differed  from  Sister 
Dora,  yet  in  her  was  the  charm  of  unconscious- 
ness of  power  or  superiority,  and  the  impression 
left  was,  of  there  being  no  feeling  of  pleasure 
in  her,  other  than  the  triumph  of  the  right."* 

In  1867  the  cottage  hospital  had  to  be 
abandoned,  as  erysipelas  broke  out  and  would 
not  be  expelled.  The  wards  were  evidently 
impregnated  with  malignant  germs,  to  such 
an  extent  that  the  committee  resolved  to  build 
a  new  hospital  in  a  better  situation. 

"  Sister  Dora's  work  became  more  engrossing 
when  this  larger  field  was  opened  for  it  ;  the 
men's  beds  were  constantly  full,  and  even  the 
women's  ward  was  hardly  ever  entirely  empty." 

Just  at  this  period  an  epidemic  of  small-pox 
broke  out  in  Walsall,  and  all  the  energies  of 
Sister  Dora  were  called  into  play.  She  visited 
the  cottages  where  the  patients  lay,  and  nursed 

*  Sister  Dora :  a  Review  p.  14  (Walsall,   1880). 


Sister  Dora  367 

them  or  saw  to  their  being  supplied  with 
what  they  needed  ;  whilst  at  the  same  time 
carrying  on  her  usual  work  at  the  hospital. 

"One  night  she  was  sent  for  by  a  poor 
man  who  was  dying  of  what  she  called  *  black- 
pox,'  a  violent  form  of  small-pox.  She  went 
at  once,  and  found  him  in  the  last  extremity. 
All  his  relations  had  fled,  and  a  neighbour 
alone  was  with  him.  When  Sister  Dora  found 
that  only  one  small  piece  of  candle  was  left 
in  the  house,  she  gave  the  woman  some  money, 
begging  her  to  go  and  buy  some  means  of 
light  whilst  she  stayed  with  the  man.  She 
sat  on  by  his  bed,  but  the  woman,  who  had 
probably  spent  the  money  at  the  public-house, 
never  returned  ;  and  after  some  little  while 
the  dying  man  raised  himself  up  in  bed  with 
a  last  effort,  saying,  *  Sister,  kiss  me  before 
I  die.'  She  took  him,  all  covered  as  he  was 
with  the  loathsome  disease,  into  her  arms  and 
kissed  him,  the  candle  going  out  almost  as 
she  did  so,  leaving  them  in  total  darkness. 
He  implored  her  not  to  leave  him  while  he 
lived,  although  he  might  have  known  she 
would  never  do    that."      So    she    sat  through 


368     Zbc  X>itQin  Saints  an^  /IDarti^rs 

the    night,    till    the    early    dawn    breaking    in 
revealed  that  the  man  was  dead. 

When  the  bell  at  the  head  of  her  bed  rang 
at  night  she  rose  at  once,  saying  to  herself, 
*'  The  Master  is  come,  and  calleth  for  thee  !  " 
Indeed,  she  loved  to  think  that  she  was  minister- 
ing to  her  Blessed  Lord  in  the  person  of  His 
poor  and  sick.  Miss  Lonsdale  prints  a  letter 
from  a  former  patient  in  the  hospital,  from 
which  only  a  short  extract  can  be  made  :  "  I 
had  not  been  there  above  a  week  when  Sister 
Dora  found  me  a  little  bell,  as  there  was  not 
one  to  my  bed,  and  she  said,  *  Enoch,  you 
must  ring  this  bell  when  you  want  Sister.' 
This  little  bell  did  not  have  much  rest,  for 
whenever  I  heard  her  step  or  the  tinkle  of 
her  keys  in  the  hall  I  used  to  ring  my  bell, 
and  she  would  call  out,  '  Fm  coming,  Enoch,* 
which  she  did,  and  would  say,  '  What  do  you 
want  ? '  I  often  used  to  say,  '  I  don't  know, 
Sister,'  not  really  knowing  what  I  did  want. 
She'd  say,  '  Do  you  want  your  pillows  shaking 
up,  or  do  you  want  moving  a  little  ? '  which 
she'd  do,  whatever  it  was,  and  say,  'Do  you 
feel  quite  cosy  now?'  '  Yes,  Sister.'     Then  she 


sister  S)ora  369 

would  start  to  go  into  the  other  ward,  but 
very  often  before  she  could  get  through  the 
door  rd  call  her  back  and  say  my  pillow  wasn*t 
quite  right,  or  that  my  leg  wanted  moving  a 
little.  She  would  come  and  do  it,  whatever  it 
was,  and  say,  *  Will  that  do  ?  *  '  Yes,  Sister.' 
Then  she'd  go  about  her  work,  but  at  the 
very  next  sound  of  her  step  my  bell  would 
ring,  and  as  often  as  my  bell  rang  Sister  would 
come  ;  and  some  of  the  other  patients  would 
often  remark  that  I  should  wear  that  little 
bell  out  or  Sister,  and  she'd  say,  *  Never  mind, 
for  I  like  to  hear  it,  and  it's  never  too  often.' 
And  it  rang  so  often  that  I've  heard  Sister 
say  that  she  often  dreamt  she  heard  my  little 
bell  and  .started  up  in  a  hurry  to  find  it  was  a 
dream." 

Sister  Dora  said  once  to  a  friend,  who  was 
engaging  a  servant  for  the  hospital,  ''  Tell 
her  this  is  not  an  ordinary  house,  or  even  a 
hospital.  I  want  her  to  understand  that  all 
who  serve  here,  in  whatever  capacity,  ought 
to  have  one  rule,  love  for  God^  and  then,  I 
need  not  say,  love  for  their  work." 

She  spoke  often,  and  with  intense  earnestness, 

24 


^7o     Zbc  \)ivQin  Saints  an^  /iDattprs 

on    the    duty,    the    necessity,    of    prayer.       It 
was    literally    true     that     she    never     touched 
a   wound    without    raising    her    heart    to    God 
and    entreating    Him    to   bless  the  means  em- 
ployed.      As    years    glided    away,    she    became 
able  almost  to  fulfil  the  Apostle's    command  : 
"  Pray    without    ceasing."       And    her    prayers 
were  animated   by   the  most  intense '  faith — an 
absolutely  unshaken  conviction  of  their  efficacy. 
It    may    truly    be    said    that    those    who    pray 
become    increasingly    more    sure   of  the    value 
of  prayer.      They  find    that,     whatever    men 
may  say  about  the  reign  of  law  and  the  order 
of     Nature,    earnest    prayer     does    bring    an 
answer,  often  in   a  marvellous  manner.      The 
praying    man    or   woman    is    never    shaken    in 
his  or  her  trust  in  the  efficacy  of  prayer.     ''  She 
firmly    held    to    the    supernatural    power,    put 
into  the  hands  of  men  by  means  of  the  weapon 
of   prayer ;  and    the    practical    faithlessness    in 
this  respect  of  the  world  at  large  was  an  ever- 
increasing    source   of  surprise    and    distress    to 
her." 

Since   her  death,   in   commemoration  of  her 
labours  at  Walsall,  a  very  beautiful  statue  has 


Sister  2)ora  371 

been  there  erected  to  her,  and  on  the  pedestal 
are  bas-reliefs  representing  incidents  in  her  life 
there.  One  of  these  illustrates  a  terrible  ex- 
plosion that  took  place  in  the  Birchett's  Iron 
Works,  on  Friday,  October  15th,  1875,  where- 
by eleven  men  were  so  severely  burnt  that  only 
two  survived.  All  the  others  died  after  their 
admission  into  the  hospital.  It  came  about 
thus.  The  men  were  at  work  when  water 
escaped  from  the  *'  twyer "  and  fell  upon  the 
molten  iron  in  the  furnace  and  was  at  once 
resolved  into  steam  that  blew  out  the  front 
of  the  furnace,  and  also  the  molten  iron,  which 
fell  upon  the  men.  Some  suffered  frightful 
agonies,  but  the  shock  to  the  nervous  system 
of  others  had  stupefied  them.  The  sight  and 
the  smell  were  terrible.  Ladies  who  volunteered 
their  help  could  not  endure  it,  and  were  forced 
to  withdraw,  some  not  getting  beyond  the 
door  of  the  ward.  But  Sister  Dora  was  with 
the  patients  incessantly  till  they  died,  giving 
them  water,  bandaging  their  wounds,  or  cutting 
away  the  sodden  clothes  that  adhered  to  the 
burnt  flesh.  Some  lingered  on  for  ten  days, 
but    in   all    this    time    she    never    deserted  the 


372     Ubc  mvQin  Saints  an^  /IDattigrs 

fetid  atmosphere  of  the  ward,  never  went 
to  bed. 

She  had  so  much  to  do  with  burns  that 
she  became  specially  skilful  in  treating  them. 
Children  terribly  burnt  or  scalded  were  con- 
stantly brought  to  the  hospital  ;  often  men 
came  scalded  from  a  boiler,  or  by  molten 
metal.  She  dressed  their  wounds  herself,  but, 
if  possible,  always  sent  the  patients  to  be  tended 
at  home,  where  she  would  visit  them  and 
regularly  dress  their  wounds,  rather  than  have 
the  wards  tainted  by  the  effluvium  from  the 
burns.  Her  treatment  of  burnt  children  merits 
quotation. 

"  If  a  large  surface  of  the  body  was  burnt, 
or  if  the  child  seemed  beside  itself  with  terror, 
she  did  not  touch  the  wounds  themselves, 
but  only  carefully  excluded  the  air  from  them 
by  means  of  cotton  wool  and  blankets  wrapped 
round  the  body.  She  put  hot  bottles  and 
flannel  to  the  feet,  and,  if  necessary,  ice  to 
the  head.  Then  she  gave  her  attention  to 
soothing  and  consoling  the  shocked  nerves — 
a  state  which  she  considered  to  be  often  a 
more   immediate    source    of  danger  to  the  life 


sister  Dora  373 

of  the  child  than  the  actual  injuries.  She 
fed  it  with  milk  and  brandy,  unless  it  violently 
refused  food,  when  she  would  let  it  alone  until 
it  came  round,  saying  that  force,  or  anything 
which  involved  even  a  slight  further  shock  to 
the  system,  was  worse  than  useless.  Sometimes, 
of  course,  the  fatal  sleep  of  exhaustion,  from 
which  there  was  no  awakening,  would  follow  ; 
but  more  often  than  not  food  was  successfully 
administered,  and  after  a  few  hours.  Sister  Dora, 
having  gained  the  child's  confidence,  could  dress 
the  wounds  without  fear  of  exciting  the  frantic 
terror  which  would  have  been  the  result  of 
touching  them  at  first." 

Children  Sister  Dora  dearly  loved  ;  her  heart 
went  out  to  them  with  infinite  tenderness,  and 
she  was  even  known  to  sleep  with  a  burnt  baby 
on  each  arm.  What  that  means  only  those 
know  who  have  had  experience  of  the  sickening 
smell  arising  from  burns. 

Once  a  Httle  girl  of  nine  was  brought  into 
the  hospital  so  badly  burnt  that  it  was  obvious 
she  had  not  many  hours  to  live.  Sister  Dora 
sat  by  her  bed  talking  to  her  of  Jesus  Christ 
and  His  love  for   little    children,    and    of  the 


374     Ube  ViXQin  Saints  ant)  ^art^rs 

blessed  home  into  which  He  would  receive 
them.  The  child  died  peacefully,  and  her 
last  words  were  :  ''  Sister,  when  you  come  to 
heaven,  I'll  meet  you  at  the  gates  with  a  bunch 
of  flowers." 

One  of  the  most  heroic  of  her  many  heroic 
acts  was  taking  charge  of  the  small-pox  hospital 
when  a  second  epidemic  broke  out. 

Mr.  S.  Welsh  says : — "  In  the  spring  of 
1875  there  was  a  second  visitation  of  the  disease, 
and  fears  were  entertained  that  the  results 
would  be  as  bad  as  during  the  former  visitation. 
One  morning  Sister  Dora  came  to  me  and 
said,  *  Do  you  know,  I  have  an  idea  that  if 
some  one  could  be  got  to  go  to  the  epidemic 
hospital  in  whom  the  people  have  confidence, 
they  would  send  their  friends  to  be  nursed, 
the  patients  would  be  isolated,  and  the  disease 
stamped  out  .^  '  "  This  was  because  a  prejudice 
was  entertained  against  the  new  small-pox 
hospital,  and  those  who  had  sick  concealed  the 
fact  rather  than  send  them  to  it.  ''  I  said," 
continues  Mr.  Welsh,  "  '  I  have  long  been 
of  the  opinion  you  have  just  expressed  ;  but 
where  are  we  to  get  a  lady,  in  whom  the  people 


Sister  Dora  375 

would  have  confidence,  to  undertake  the  duty  ? ' 
Her  prompt  reply  was,  *  I  will  go.'  I  confess 
the  sudden  announcement  of  her  determination 
rather  took  me  by  surprise,  for  I  had  no 
expectation  of  it,  and  not  the  most  remote  idea 
that  she  intended  to  go.  '  But,'  I  said,  *  who 
will  take  charge  of  the  hospital  if  you  go  there  ? ' 

*  Oh,'  she  replied,  '  I  can  get  plenty  of  ladies 
to  come  there,  but  none  will  go  to  the  epidemic. 
And,'  she  added,  by  way  of  reconciling  me 
to  her  view,  '  it  will  only  be  for  a  short  time.' 

*  But  what  if  you  were  to  take  the  disease  and 
die  ^ '  I  inquired.  *  Then,'  she  added,  in  her 
cheery  way,  '  I  shall  have  died  in  the  path  of 
duty,  and,  you  know,  I  could  not  die  better.' 
I  knew  it  was  no  use  pointing  out  at  length 
the  risk  she  ran,  for  where  it  was  a  case  of 
saving  others,  self  with  her  was  no  consideration. 
I  tried  to  dissuade  her  on  other  grounds.  .  . 
A  few  days  later,  I  was  in  company  with  the 
doctor  of  our  hospital,  who  was  also  medical 
officer  of  health,  and  who,  as  such,  had  charge 
of  the  epidemic  hospital,  near  to  which  we 
were  at  the  time.  He  said,  '  Do  you  know 
where    Sister    Dora  is  .^  '     *  At    the  hospital,  I 


376     tibe  IDlrgtn  Saints  ant)  /IDartrts 

suppose/  was  my  reply.  *  No/  he  rejoined, 
*  she  is  over  there  !  ' — pointing  to  the  epidemic 
hospital.  .  .  The  people,  as  soon  as  they  knew 
Sister  Dora  was  in  charge,  had  no  misgiving 
about  sending  their  relatives  to  be  nursed,  and 
the  result  was  as  she  had  predicted  ;  the  cases 
were  brought  in  as  soon  as  it  was  discovered 
that  patients  had  the  disease,  and  the  epidemic 
was  speedily  stamped  out." 

She  had,  however,  a  hard  time. of  it  there, 
as  she  lacked  assistants.  Two  women  were  sent 
from  the  workhouse,  but  they  proved  of  little 
use.  The  porter,  an  old  soldier,  was  attentive 
and  kind  in  his  way,  but  he  always  went  out 
"  on  a  spree  "  on  Saturday  nights,  and  did  not 
return  till  late  on  Sunday  evening.  When 
the  workhouse  women  failed  her,  she  was 
sometimes  alone  with  her  patients,  and  these 
occasionally  in  the  deUrium  of  small-pox. 

It  was  not  till  the  middle  of  August,  1875, 
that  the  last  small-pox  patient  departed  from 
the  hospital,  and  she  was  able  to  return  to  her 
original  work. 

One  of  the  bas-reliefs  on  her  monument 
represents  Sister   Dora    consoling  the  afflicted- 


Sister  Bora  377 

and  the  scene  depicted  refers  to  a  dreadful 
colliery  accident  that  occurred  on  March  14th, 
1872,  at  Pelsall,  a  village  rather  over  three 
miles  from  Walsall,  by  which  twenty-two  men 
were  entombed,  and  all  perished.  For  several 
days  hopes  were  entertained  that  some  of  the 
men  would  be  got  out  alive  ;  and  blankets  in 
which  to  wrap  them,  and  restoratives,  were 
provided,  and  Sister  Dora  was  sent  for  to 
attend  the  men  when  brought  to  *'  bank." 
The  following  extract,  from  an  article  by  a 
special  correspondent  in  a  newspaper,  dated 
December  loth,  1872,  will  give  some  idea  of 
Sister  Dora's  connection  with  the  event  : — 

"  Out  of  doors  the  scene  is  weird  and  awful, 
and  impresses  the  mind  with  a  peculiar  gloom  ; 
for  the  intensity  of  the  darkness  is  heightened 
by  the  shades  created  by  the  artificial  lights. 
Every  object,  the  most  minute,  stands  out  in 
bold  relief  againt  the  inky  darkness  which 
surrounds  the  landscape.  On  the  crest  of 
the  mound  or  pit-bank,  the  policemen,  like 
sentinels,  are  walking  their  rounds.  The  wind 
is  howling  and  whisthng  through  the  trees 
which  form  a  background  to  the  pit-bank,  and 


378     Ubc  DivQin  Saints  an^  /IDartprs 

the  rain  is  coming  hissing  down  in  sheets.  In 
a  hovel  close  to  the  pit-shaft  sit  the  bereaved 
and  disconsolate  mourners,  hoping  against  hope, 
and  watching  for  those  who  will  never  return. 
There,  too,  are  the  swarthy  sons  of  toil  who 
have  just  returned  from  their  fruitless  search 
in  the  mine  for  the  dear  missing  ones,  and  are 
resting  while  their  saturated  clothes  are  drying. 
But  another  form  glides  softly  from  that 
hovel  ;  and  amid  the  pelting  rain,  and  over  the 
rough  pit-bank,  and  through  miry  clay — now 
ankle  deep — takes  her  course  to  the  dwellings 
of  the  mourners,  for  some,  spent  with  watching, 
have  been  induced  to  return  to  their  homes. 
As  she  plods  her  way  amid  pieces  of  timber, 
upturned  waggons,  and  fragments  of  broken 
machinery,  which  are  scattered  about  in  great 
confusion,  a  '  wee,  wee  bairn*  creeps  gently  to 
her  side,  and  grasping  her  hand,  and  looking 
wistfully  into  her  face,  which  is  radiant  with 
kindness  and  affection,  says,  '  Oh,  Sister,  do  see 
to  my  father  when  they  bring  him  up  the  pit.' 
Poor  child  !  Never  again  would  he  know  a 
father's  love,  or  share  a  father's  care.  She 
smiled,    and  that   smile  seemed  to  lighten  the 


Sister  2)ora  379 

child's  load  of  grief,  and  her  promise  to  see  to 
his  father  appeared  to  impart  consolation  to  his 
heavy,  despairing  heart. 

"  On  she  glides,  with  a  kind  word  or  a 
sympathetic  expression  to  all.  One  woman, 
after  listening  to  her  comforting  words,  burst 
into  tears — the  fountains  of  sorrow  so  long 
pent  up  seemed  to  have  found  vent.  '  Let  her 
weep,'  said  a  relative  of  the  unfortunate  woman  ; 
*  it  is  the  first  tear  she  has  shed  since  the 
accident  has  occurred,  and  it  will  do  her  good 
to  cry.'  But  who  is  the  good  Samaritan  ?  She 
is  the  sister  who  for  seven  years  has  had  the 
management  of  the  nursing  department  in  the 
cottage  hospital  at  Walsall." 

This  is  written  in  too  much  of  the  "  special 
correspondent "  style  to  be  pleasant  ;  neverthe- 
less it  describes  what  actually  took  place. 

Mr.  Samuel  Welsh  says  :  "I  remember  one 
evening  I  was  in  the  hospital  when  a  poor  man 
who  had  been  dreadfully  crushed  in  a  pit  was 
brought  in.  One  of  his  legs  was  so  fearfully 
injured  that  it  was  thought  it  would  be 
necessary  to  amputate  it.  After  examining  the 
patient,  the  doctor | came  to  me  in  the  committee- 


38o     XTbe  IDtrgtn  Saints  mt>  /IDartigrs 

room — one  door  of  which  opened  into  the 
passage  leading  to  the  wards,  and  another  into 
the  hall  in  the  domestic  portion  of  the  building. 
After  telling  me  about  the  patient  who  had  just 
been  brought  in,  he  said,  '  Do  you  know  Sister 
Dora  is  very  ill  ?  So  ill,'  he  continued,  '  that 
I  question  if  she  will  pull  through  this  time/ 
I  naturally  inquired  what  she  was  suffering 
from,  and  in  reply  the  doctor  said,  *  She  will 
not  take  care  of  herself,  and  is  suffering  from 
blood-poison.'     He   left   me,   and    I   was  just 

trying  to  solve  the  problem '  What  shall 

be  done  ?  or  how  shall  her  place  be  supplied  if 
she  be  taken  from  us  by  death  ?  '  when  I  saw  a 
spectral-like  figure  gliding  gently  and  almost 
noiselessly  through  the  room  from  the  domestic 
entrance  to  the  door  leading  to  the  wards. 
The  figure  was  rather  indistinct,  for  it  was 
nearly  dark  ;  and  as  I  gazed  at  the  receding 
form,  I  said,  '  Sister,  is  it  you  ?  '  *  Whist  ! ' 
she  said,  and  glided  through  the  doorway  into 
the  wards.  In  a  short  time  she  returned,  and 
I  said  to  her,  *  Sister,  the  doctor  has  just  been 
telling  me  how  ill  you  are — how  is  it  you  are 
here  ^ '     *  Ah  !  '  replied  she,  *  it  is  true   I  am 


sister  2)ota  381 

very  ill  ;  but  I  heard  the  surgeons  talking 
about  amputating  that  poor  fellow's  limb,  and 
I  wanted  to  see  whether  or  no  there  was  a 
possibility  of  saving  it,  and  I  believe  there  is  ; 
and,  knowing  that,  I  shall  rest  better/  So 
saying,  she  glided  as  noiselessly  out  of  the  room 
as  when  she  entered. 

*'  On  her  recovery — which  was  retarded  by 
her  neglecting  herself  to  attend  to  others — she 
called  me  to  the  hall-door  of  the  hospital,  and 
asked  me  if  I  thought  it  was  going  to  rain.  I 
told  her  I  did  not  think  it  would  rain  for  some 
hours.  She  then  told  me  to  go  and  order  a 
cab  to  be  ready  at  the  hospital  in  half  an  hour. 
I  tried  to  persuade  her  not  to  venture  out  so 
soon  ;  but  it  was  no  use — she  went ;  and  many 
a  time  I  wondered  where  she  went  to. 

"  About  six  months  afterwards  I  happened  to 
be  at  a  railway  station,  and  saw  a  pointsman 
who  had  been  in  our  hospital  with  an  injured 
foot,  but  who,  as  his  friends  wished  to  have 
him  at  home,  had  left  before  his  foot  was  cured. 
I  inquired  how  his  foot  was.  He  repHed  that 
had  it  not  been  for  Sister  Dora  he  would  have 
lost  his  foot,  if  not  his  life.     I  said,  *  How  did 


382     XTbe  MvQin  Saints  ant)  /TOarti^ts 

she  save  your  foot  when  you  were  not  in  the 
hospital,  and  she  was  ill  at  the  time  you  left 
the  hospital  ?  '  '  Well,'  he  replied,  '  you  know 
my  foot  was  far  from  well  when  I  left  the 
hospital ;  there  was  no  one  at  our  house  who 
could  see  to  it  properly,  and  it  took,  bad  ways, 
and  one  evening  I  was  in  awful  pain.  Oh, 
how  I  did  wish  for  Sister  Dora  to  come  and 
dress  it !  I  felt  sure  she  could  give  me  rehef, 
but  I  had  been  told  she  was  very  ill,  so  I  had 
no  hope  that  my  earnest  desire  would  be 
realised  ;  but  while  I  was  thinking  and  wishing, 
the  bedroom  door  was  gently  opened,  and  a 
figure  just  like  Sister  Dora  glided  so  softly  into 
the  room  that  I  could  not  hear  her,  but  oh  ! 
she  was  so  pale  that  I  began  to  think  it  must  be 
her  spirit  ;  but  when  she  folded  the  bedclothes 
from  off  my  foot,  I  knew  it  was  she.  She 
dressed  my  foot,  and  from  that  hour  it  began  to 
improve.' 

*'  A  few  days  after  this  interview  with  the 
pointsman  I  was  talking  to  Sister  Dora  and 
said,  '  By  the  bye,  Sister,  I  have  found  out 
where  you  went  with  the  cab  that  day.' 
She    replied    with     a     merry     twinkle    in    her 


sister  2)ota  3^3 

eye,  '  What  a  long  time  you  have  been  finding 
it  out!'" 

Her  old  patients  ever  remembered  her  with 
gratitude.  A  man  called  Chell,  an  engine- 
stoker,  was  twice  in  the  hospital  under  her 
care,  first  with  a  dislocated  ankle,  severely  cut  ; 
the  second  time,  with  a  leg  crushed  to  pieces  in 
a  railway  accident.  It  was  amputated.  Accord- 
ing to  his  own  account  he  remembered  nothing 
of  the  operation,  except  that  Sister  Dora  was 
there,  and  that,  "  When  I  come  to  after  the 
chloroform,  she  was  on  her  knees  by  my  side 
with  her  arm  supporting  my  head,  and  she  was 
repeating  : — 

"  '  They  climbed  the  steep  ascent  of  heaven. 
Through  peril,  toil,  and  pain : 
O  God,  to  us  may  grace  be  given 
To  follow  in  their  train.' 

And  all  through  the  pain  and  trouble  that  I 
had  afterwards,  I  never  forgot  Sister's  voice 
saying  those  words."  When  she  was  in  the 
small-pox  hospital,  avoided  by  most,  this  man 
never  failed  to  stump  away  to  it  to  see  her 
and  inquire  how  she  was  getting  on. 

There  were,  as  she  herself  recognised,  faults 


384     XTbe  IDirgtn  Saints  anb  /iDart^ts^ 

in  the  character  of  Sister  Dora  ;  and  yet, 
without  these  faults,  problematical  as  it  may 
seem,  it  is  doubtful  whether  she  could  have 
achieved  all  she  did. 

One  who  knew  her  long  and  intimately 
writes  to  me :  *^  A  majestic  character,  brim- 
ming over  with  sympathy,  but,  for  lack  of 
self-discipline,  this  sympathy  was  impulsive 
and  gushing.  Her  character  would  have  been 
best  formed  in  marrying  a  man — either  states- 
man, philanthropist  or  author — whose  character 
would  have  dominated  hers,  and  she  would 
have  shone  subdued.  Her  glorious  nature, 
physical  and  mental,  was  marred  by  undis- 
ciplined impulse.  Her  nature  found  its  con- 
genial outlet  in  devoted  works  of  mercy  and 
love  to  her  fellow-creatures.  How  far  she 
would  have  done  the  same  under  authority, 
I  fear  is  a  little  doubtful.'* 

I  doubt  it  wholly.  "  The  wind  bloweth 
where  it  listeth,  and  thou  hearest  the  sound 
thereof,  but  canst  not  tell  whence  it  cometh, 
and  whither  it  goeth  :  so  is  every  one  that 
is  born  of  the  Spirit  ''  (John  iii  8).  The  truth 
and   depth  of  these   words  are  not  sufficiently 


Sister  Dora  385 

appreciated.  They  teach  that  in  those  governed 
by  the  Spirit  of  God  there  is  an  apparent 
capriciousness  and  impulsiveness  which  does 
not  commend  itself  to  worldly  wisdom  or 
vulgar  common-sense.  Unquestionably,  in  com- 
munity life,  this  masterfulness  in  the  character 
of  Sister  Dora  might  have  been  subdued, 
but — would  she  have  then  done  the  same 
magnificent  work  ?  It  seems  to  me — but  I 
may  be  mistaken — that  we  should  suffer  these 
strong  characters  to  take  their  course,  and  not 
endeavour  to  crush  them  into  an  ordinary 
mould.  It  is  precisely  those  who  soar  above 
the  routine-bound  souls  that,  among  men, 
make  history — as  Caesar,  Napoleon,  Bismarck — 
and  let  me  add  Lord  Kitchener.  And  in  the 
Church  it  is  the  same. 

Miss  Twigg,  who  knew  her  well,  writes 
me  :  *'  She  was  a  lovable  woman,  so  bright 
and  winsome.  She  used  to  come  into  our 
rather  dull  and  sad  home  (our  mother  died 
when  we  were  quite  children)  after  evening 
service.  She  would  nurse  one  of  us,  big  as 
we  were  then,  and  the  others  would  gather 
round  her,  while  she  would  tell  us  stories  of 

25 


386     Ubc  IDitgtn  Saints  anb  /IDarti^rs 

her  hospital  hfe.   .   .   .  She  was   a  real  woman, 
though  with  a  woman's  failings." 

There  is  one  point  in  Sister  Dora's  life  to 
which  sufficient  attention  has  not  been  paid 
by  her  biographers.  It  is  one  which  the  busy 
workers  of  the  present  day  think  of  too 
little — namely,  the  writing  of  bright,  help- 
ful letters  to  any  friend  who  is  sick,  or  in 
trouble.  Somehow  or  other  she  always  found 
time  for  that,  wrote  one  who  knew  her  well,^ 
and  who  contributes  the  following,  written 
to  a  young  girl  who  was  at  the  time  in  a 
spinal  hospital,  and  who  was  almost  a  stranger 
to  her  : — • 

**  My  dear  Miss  J., — I  was  so  glad  to 
hear  from  you,  though  I  fear  it  must  be  a 
trouble  for  you  to  write.  I  do  hope  that  you 
will  really  have  benefited  by  the  treatment 
and  rest.  I  am  so  glad  that  the  doctor  is 
good  to  his  '  children.'  Such  little  attentions 
when  you  are  sick  help  to  alleviate  wonderfully. 
I  wish  I  could  come  and  take  a  peep  at  you. 
Did  Mrs.  N.  tell  you  that  she  had  sent  us  ^f  5 

'  H.  M.  J.,  in  a  letter  to  the  Guardian,  May  12th,  1880. 


Sister  Dora  387 

for  our  seaside  expedition  ?  Was  it  not  good 
of  her  ?  Oh  !  we  shall  have  such  a  jolly  time. 
To  see  all  those  poor  creatures  drink  in  the 
sea-breezes  !  We  have  had  a  very  busy  week 
of  accidents  and  operations.  It  has  been  a 
regular  storm.-^  My  dear,  it  is  in  such  times 
as  you  are  now  having  that  the  voice  of 
Jesus  Christ  can  be  best  heard,  '  Come  into 
a  desert  place  awhile.'  Know  you  surely  that 
it  is  God's  visitation.  Take  home  that  thought, 
realise  it  : — God  visiting  you.  Elizabeth  was 
astonished  that  the  Mother  of  her  Lord  should 
visit  her.  We  can  have  our  Emmanuel.  I 
can  look  back  on  my  sicknesses  as  the  best 
times  of  my  life.  Don't  fret  about  the  future. 
He  carrieth  our  sicknesses  and  healeth  our 
infirmities.  You  know  infirmity  means  weak- 
ness after  sickness.  Think  of  the  cheering 
lines  of  our  hymn  :  '  His  touch  has  still  its 
ancient  power.'  When  I  arose  up  from  my 
sick-bed  they  told  me  I  should  never  be  able 
to  enter  a  hospital  or  do  work  again.  I  was 
fretting  over  this  when  a  good  friend  came 
to  me,  and  told  me  only  to  take  a  day's  burden 

*   A  Yorkshire  expression  for  heavy  work. 


388     Ube  DivQin  Saints  anb  /IDatt^re 

and  not  look  forward,  and  it  was  such  a  help. 
I  got  up  every  day  feeling  sure  I  should  have 
strength  and  grace  for  the  day's  trial.  May 
it  be  said  of  you,  dear,  '  They  took  knowledge 
of  her  that  she  had  been  with  Jesus/  May 
He  reveal  Himself  in  all  His  beauty  is  the 
prayer  of 

"  Your  sincere  friend, 

"  Sister  Dora." 

It  does  not  truly  represent  Sister  Dora  to 
dwell  on  her  outer  life,  and  not  look  as  well 
into  that  which  is  within,  as  it  was  the  very 
mainspring  of  all  her  actions,  as  it,  in  fact, 
made  her  what  she  was. 

The  same  writer  to  the  Guardian  gives 
some  sentences  from  other  letters  :  — 

'*Take  your  cross  day  by  day,  dearie,  and 
with  Jesus  Christ  bearing  the  other  end  it 
will  not  be  too  heavy."  *'  If  we  would  find 
Jesus,  it  must  be  on  the  mountain,  not  in 
the  plains  or  smooth  places.  '  He  went  up 
into  a  mountain  and  taught  them,  saying,'  etc. 
It  is  only  on  a  mountain-side  that  we  shall 
see   the   Cross.      It  was  only  after   Zacchaeus 


Sister  Dora  389 

had  climbed  the  tree  he  could  see  Jesus.  I 
have  been  thinking  much  of  this  lately.  It 
is  not  in  the  smooth  places  we  shall  see  Jesus, 
it  is  in  the  rough,  in  the  storm,  or  by  the 
sick-couch."  "  A  Christian  is  one  whose  object 
is  Christ."  "  I  am  rejoiced  that  you  are  enjoy- 
ing Faber's  hymns  ;  they  always  warm  me  up. 
Oh  !  my  dear,  is  it  not  sad  that  we  prefer  to 
live  in  the  shade  when  we  might  have  the 
glorious  sunshine.^" 

It  was  during  the  winter  of  1876-7  that 
Sister  Dora  felt  the  first  approach  of  the  terrible 
disease  that  was  to  cause  her  death,  and  then 
it  was  rather  by  diminution  of  strength  than 
by  actual  pain.  She  consulted  a  doctor  in 
Birmingham,  in  whom  she  placed  confidence, 
and  he  told  her  the  plain  truth,  that  her  days 
in  this  world  were  numbered.  She  exacted 
from  him  a  pledge  of  secrecy,  and  then  went 
on  with  her  work  as  hitherto. 

'*  She  was  suddenly  brought,"  says  Miss 
Lonsdale,  ''  as  it  were,  face  to  face  with  death — 
distant,  perhaps,  but  inevitable  :  she,  who  was 
full  of  such  exuberant  life  and  spirits,  that 
the  very  word  '  death  '  seemed  a  contradiction 


39°     ^be  ViVQin  Saints  an^  /iDatt^ts 

when  applied  to  her.  Even  her  doctor,  ais 
he  looked  at  her  blooming  appearance,  and 
measured  with  his  eye  her  finely  made  form, 
was  almost  inclined  to  believe  the  evidence 
of  his  outward  senses  against  his  sober  judg- 
ment. .  .  .  She  could  not  endure  pity.  She, 
to  whom  everybody  had  learnt  instinctively 
to  turn  for  help  and  consolation,  on  whom 
others  leant  for  support,  must  she  now  come 
down  to  ask  of  them  sympathy  and  comfort  ? 
The  pride  of  life  was  still  surging  up  in  her, 
that  pride  which  had  made  her  glory  in  her 
physical  strength  for  its  own  sake,  as  well  as 
for  its  manifold  uses  in  the  service  of  her 
Master.  True,  she  had  been  long  living  two 
lives  inseparably  blended  :  the  outward  life, 
one  of  hard,  unceasing  toil  ;  the  inner,  a 
constant  communion  with  the  unseen  world, 
the  existence  of  which  she  realised  to  an  extent 
which  not  even  those  who  saw  the  most  of 
her  could  appreciate.  To  all  the  poor  ignorant 
beings  whose  souls  she  tried  to  reach  by  means 
of  their  maimed  bodies,  she  was,  indeed,  the 
personification  of  all  that  they  could  conceive 
as    lovable,  holy    and  merciful  in  the  Saviour. 


Sister  Bora  391 

At  the  same  time  she  judged  her  own  self  with 
strict  impartiality.  She  knew  her  own  faults, 
her  unbending  will — her  pride  and  glory  in 
her  work  seemed  to  her  even  a  fault ;  and, 
in  place  of  looking  on  herself  as  perfect,  she 
was  bowed  down  with  a  sense  of  her  own 
shortcomings.  At  the  same  time — with  death 
before  her,  she  hungered  for  more  work  for 
her  Master.  His  words  were  continually  on 
her  lips  :  '  I  must  work  the  works  of  Him 
that  sent  Me  while  it  is  day  ;  the  night  cometh 
when  no  man  can  work.'  " 

At  last,  in  the  month  of  August,  1878, 
typhoid  fever  having  broken  out  in  the 
temporary  hospital,  it  was  found  necessary  to 
close  it,  and  hasten  on  the  work  of  the  con- 
struction of  another.  This  gave  her  an 
opportunity  for  a  holiday  and  a  complete 
change.  She  went  to  the  Isle  of  Man,  to 
London,  and  to  Paris. 

But  the  disorder  was  making  rapid  strides, 
and  was  causing  her  intense  suffering,  and 
she  craved  to  be  back  at  Walsall.  She  got  as 
far  as  Birmingham,  and  was  then  in  such  a 
critical  state,  that  it  was  feared  she  would  die. 


392     XTbe  mvQin  Saints  anD  /IDart^rs 

But  her  earnest  entreaty  was  to  be  taken  to 
Walsall  :  *'  Let  me  die,"  she  pleaded,  "  among 
my  own  people." 

Mr.  Welsh  says  : — "  On  calling  at  the 
Queen's  Hotel,  Birmingham  [where  she  was 
lying  ill],  I  was  told  the  doctor  of  the  hospital 
(Dr.  Maclachlan)  was  with  her,  and  thinking 
they  were  probably  arranging  matters  connected 
with  the  hospital,  I  did  not  go  to  her  room, 
but  proceeded  to  the  train.  I  had  scarcely 
got  seated  when  the  doctor  called  me  out, 
and  we  entered  a  compartment  where  we  were 
alone.  He  asked  me  when  it  was  intended 
to  open  the  hospital.  I  replied,  '  On  the 
4th  November.'  'Then,'  he  said,  'that  will 
just  be   about  the  time  Sister  Dora  will  die.' 

"  The  announcement  was  to  me  a  shock 
of  no  ordinary  kind,  for  I  had  not  heard  of 
her  being  ill,  and  no  one  could  have  imagined, 
from  the  cheerful  tone  of  a  letter  I  had  received 
from  her  a  week  or  so  before,  that  there  was 
anything  the  matter  with  her.  Not  being  able 
to  fully  reahse  the  true  state  of  affairs,  I  asked 
him  if  he  were  jesting.  He  replied  he  was 
not,    and    that    he    thought    it  best  to    let  me 


Sistet  2)ota  393 

know  at  once,  so  that  arrangements  might  be 
made  for  getting  some  one  to  take  her  place 
when  the  hospital  was  opened.  I  said,  '  I 
suppose  she  is  going  to  Yorkshire  ? '  *  No,' 
he  replied,  '  and  that  is  another  thing  I  wish 
to  speak  to  you  about.  She  wishes  to  die  in 
Walsall,  and  she  must  be  removed  immediately.* 

**  On  Sunday  [the  day  following]  I  saw  the 
chairman  and  vice-chairman  of  the  hospital. 
On  Sunday  evening  I  returned  with  Dr. 
Maclachlan  to  the  Queen's  Hotel,  where  he 
found  his  patient  very  weak.  On  Monday 
morning,  a  house  was  taken,  and  the  furniture 
she  had  in  her  rooms  at  the  hospital  removed 
to  it.  Her  old  servant,  who  had  gone  to 
The  Potteries,  was  telegraphed  for,  and  arrived 
in  a  few  hours,  and  by  midday  the  house 
was  ready  for  her  reception.  My  daughter, 
knowing  Sister  Dora's  fondness  for  flowers, 
had  procured  and  placed  on  the  table  in  the 
parlour  a  very  choice  bouquet  ;  and  when  all 
was  ready,  Dr.  Maclachlan  drove  over  to 
Birmingham,  and  brought  her  to  Walsall  in 
his  private  carriage. 

"  The     disease     was     now    making     steady 


394     XTbe  IDirgin  Saints  ant)  /IDatt^ts 

progress,  and  it  was  evident  that  every  day 
she  vi^as  becoming  v^^eaker  ;  but  she  never  lost 
her  cheerfulness,  and  any  one  to  have  seen  her 
might  have  thought  she  was  only  suffering 
from  som.e  slight  ailment,  instead  of  an  in- 
curable and  painful  disease." 

"A  few  hours  before  her  death,"  writes 
Mr.  S.  Welsh,  "  she  called  me  to  her  bedside 
and  said,  *  I  want  you  to  promise  that  you 
will  not,  when  I  am  gone,  write  anything  about 
me  ;  quietly  I  came  among  you^  and  quietly  I 
wish  to  go  away.'  "  And  this  desire  of  hers 
would  have  been  faithfully  complied  with 
had  not  misrepresentations  fired  the  gentleman 
to  whom  the  request  was  made  to  take  up 
his  pen,  not  in  defence  of  her,  but  in  the  cor- 
rection of  statements  that  affected  certain  persons 
who  were  alive.  I  must  refer  the  reader 
for  the  detailed  account  of  her  last  hours  to 
Miss  Lonsdale's  book.  One  remarkable  fact 
must  not  be  omitted. 

Among  the  members  of  the  Basilian  Order 
in  the  Eastern  Church,  it  is  the  rule,  as  soon 
as  one  of  the  brothers  or  sisters  is  dying,  that 
all    should    leave    the    room.       The  last    office 


sister  Dora  395 

performed  is  to  screw  an  ikon  or  representation 
of  the  Saviour  to  the  foot  of  the  bed,  that  the 
dying  may  in  the  supreme  moment  not  think  of 
any  earthly  tie,  any  earthly  comfort,  but  look 
only  to  the  Rock  of  his  Salvation.  Of  this. 
Sister  Dora  knew  nothing.  In  her  last  sickness 
she  had  a  large  crucifix  hung  where  she  could 
constantly  gaze  at  it,  and  when  she  found  her 
end  approaching,  she  insisted  on  every  one 
leaving  the  room, — it  was  her  wish  to  die  alone. 
And  as  she  persisted,  so  was  it,  only  one  nurse 
standing  by  the  door  held  ajar,  and  watching 
till  she  knew  by  the  change  of  attitude,  and  a 
certain  fixed  look  in  the  countenance,  that  Sister 
Dora  had  entered  into  her  rest.^ 

Mr.  Welsh  says  :  "It  was  Christmas  Eve 
when  she  passed  away,  and  a  dense  fog,  like  a 
funeral  pall,  hung  over  the  town  and  obscured 
every  object  a  few  feet  from  the  ground. 
Under    this    strange    canopy    the    market    was 

*  This  has  been  denied.  Her  old  and  devoted  servant 
said:  "Do  you  think  I  would  let  my  darling  die  alone?" 
But  it  appears  to  me  that  Sister  Dora's  desire  was  one  to  be 
expected  in  such  a  spiritual  nature ;  and  in  the  statement 
above  given  it  is  not  said  that  she  was  actually  left  id 
solitude. 


396     XTbe  IDirotn  Saints  anb  /IDartpts 

being  held,  and  people  were  busy  buying  and 
selling,  and  making  preparations  for  the  great 
Christmas  Festival  on  the  following  day  ;  but 
when  the  deep  boom  of  the  passing  bell 
announced  the  melancholy  intelligence  that 
Sister  Dora  had  entered  into  her  rest,  a  thrill 
of  horror  ran  through  the  people,  who,  with 
blanched  cheeks  and  bated  breath,  whispered, 
'  Can  it  be  true  ? '  Although  for  eleven  weeks 
the  process  of  dissolution  had  been  going  on 
before  their  eyes,  they  could  not  realise  the  fact 
that  she  whom  they  loved  and  revered  was  no 
more." 

The  funeral  took  place  on  Saturday,  the  28  th 
of  December.  *^  The  day  was  dark  and  dismal,, 
the  streets,  covered  with  slush  and  sludge 
caused  by  the  melted  snow,  were  thronged  with 
spectators.  ...  There  was  general  mourning 
in  the  town  ;  and  although  it  was  market  day 
nearly  every  shop  was  closed  during  the  time  of 
the  funeral,  and  all  the  blinds  along  the  route 
of  the  procession  were  drawn.  .  .  .  On  reaching 
the  cemetery  it  was  found  that  four  other 
funerals  had  arrived  from  the  workhouse  ;  and 
as  these  coffins  had  been  taken  into  the  chapel 


Sister  Dora  397 

there  was  no  room  for  Sister  Dora*s,  which  had 
consequently  to  be  placed  in  the  porch.  This 
was  as  Sister  Dora  would  have  wished  had  she 
had  the  ordering  of  the  arrangements  ;  for  she 
always  gave  preference  to  the  poor,  to  whom 
she  was  attached  in  life,  and  from  whom  she 
would  not  have  desired  to  be  separated  in 
death." 

True  to  her  thought  of  others,  in  the  midst 
of  her  last  sufferings  she  had  made  arrangements 
for  a  Christmas  dinner  to  be  given  to  a  number 
of  her  old  patients,  in  accordance  with  a  custom 
of  hers  in  previous  years  ;  but  on  this  occasion 
the  festive  proceedings  were  shorn  of  their 
gladness.  All  thought  of  her  who  in  her  pain 
and  on  her  deathbed  had  thought  of  them. 
Every  one  tried,  but  ineffectually,  to  cheer  and 
comfort  the  other,  but  the  task  was  hopeless. 
One  young  lady,  after  the  meal,  and  while  the 
Christmas  tree  was  being  lighted,  commenced 
singing  that  pretty  little  piece,  "  Far  Away," — 
but  when  she  came  to  the  words, 

"Some  are  gone  from  us  for  ever, 
Longer  here  they  could  not  stay," 


398     Ube  VivQin  Saints  anb  /IDart^ts 

she  burst  into  tears  ;  and  the  women  present 
sobbed,  and  tears  were  seen  stealing  down  the 
cheeks  of  bearded  men. 

The  Walsall  writer  of  ^  Review  concludes 
his  paper  thus  : — 

"  She  is  no  idol  to  us,  but  we  worship  her 
memory  as  the  most  saintly  thing  that  was  ever 
given  to  us.  Her  name  is  immortalized,  both 
by  her  own  surpassing  goodness,  and  by  the 
love  of  a  whole  people  for  her — a  love  that  will 
survive  through  generations,  and  give  a  magic 
and  a  music  to  those  simple  words,  '  Sister 
Dora,'  long  after  we  shall  have  passed  away. 
There  was  little  we  could  ever  do — there  was 
nothing  she  would  let  us  do — to  relieve  the 
self-imposed  rigours  of  her  life  ;  but  we  love 
her  in  all  sincerity,  and  now  in  our  helplessness 
we  find  a  serene  joy  in  the  knowledge  that 
to  her,  as  surely  as  to  any  human  soul, 
will  be  spoken  the  Divine  words :  '  Inas- 
much as  ye  have  done  it  unto  the  least 
of  these  My  brethren,  ye  have  done  it 
unto  Me.'" 

In  Sister  Dora,  surely  we  have  the  highest 
type  of  the  Christian  life,  the  inner  and  hidden 


Si9tet  Dora  399 

life  of  the  soul,  the  life  that  is  hid  with  Christ 
in  God,  combined  with  that  outer  life  devoted 
to  the  doing  of  good  to  suffering  and  needy 
humanity.  In  the  cloistered  nun  we  see  only 
the  first,  and  that  tends  to  become  self-centred 
and  morbid  ;  it  is  redeemed  from  this  vice  by 
an  active  life  of  self-sacrifice. 

I  cannot  do  better  than,  in  conclusion,  quote 
from  the  last  letter  ever  penned  by  Sister 
Dora :  — 

**  It  is  2.30  a.m.,  and  I  cannot  sleep,  so  I  am 
going  to  write  to   you.     I   was  anything    but 

*  forbearing,'  dear  ;  I  was  overbearing,  and  I 
am  truly  sorry  for  it  now.  I  look  back  on  my 
life,  and  see  *  nothing  but  leaves.'  Oh,  my 
darling,  let  me  speak  to  you  from  my  death- 
bed, and  say,  Watch  in  all  you  do  that  you 
have    a    single    aim — God's  honour   and  glory. 

*  I  came  not  to  work  My  own  work,  but  the 
works  of  Him  that  sent  Me.'  Look  upon 
working  as  a  privilege.  Do  not  look  upon 
nursing  in  the  way  they  do  so  much  now-a- 
days,  as  an  art  or  science,  but  as  work  done  for 
Christ.  As  you  touch  each  patient,  think  it-  is 
Christ  Himself,  and  then  virtue  will  come  out 


400     xrbe  IDtrgtn  Saints  anD  /IDatti^ts 

of  the  touch  to  yourself.  I  have  felt  that 
myself,  when  I  have  had  a  particularly  loath- 
some patient.  Be  full  of  the  Glad  Tidings,  and 
you  will  tell  others.  You  cannot  give  what 
you  have  not  got." 


Printed  by  Hazell,  Watson,  &  Viney,  Ld.,  London  and  Aylesbury. 


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